


Shout My Name (at heaven's gate)

by roxymissrose



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religious Fanaticism, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Build, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:20:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 87,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22063927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxymissrose/pseuds/roxymissrose
Summary: Anno Domini 1951,  fifty years after the failed Fertility experiments, the world still deals (somewhat successfully) with the mutations the experiments brought. With the advent of successful mechanical wombs, and a resurgence of female fertility, Carriers finally won full civil rights, and a new type slavery was abolished.  Still, in many small towns and rural parts of America, in isolated communities, carriers were still viewed with suspicion, distaste, or horror.This is the world Jared finds himself having to navigate.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Comments: 284
Kudos: 134





	1. The sun would rise in a half hour—he could practically feel the weight of it behind purple morning clouds.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an mpreg, but not a kidfic. Warning to folks who want happy-family endings to their mpregs—Jared never adjusts to the idea of being pregnant. He never develops a desire to raise a child. This story is strictly about Jared and his journey to self-hood, at this point in time. I've been hijacked by a story before, though, so...I'm saying, you read this fic, you take your chances.
> 
> Many, many thanks to [Fufaraw.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arliss/pseuds/fufaraw) Without your help, I'd still be floundering.

=+=  
_"Silvia, that boy is causing me to ponder hard on him."_

_She was always annoyed when Padalecki followed her about on her chores, as if there wasn't enough to do of a day; was she also expected to entertain him when he had an idle moment?_

_"I have no idea what you mean, Jerome." Silvia dropped the basket to the grass, thrust her hands into the wet wash and yanked a sheet from it. Snatching some pegs out of the clothes peg basket, she tucked one into her mouth, yanked a corner of the sheet up and over the clothesline, used the one in her hand to peg it fast with an emphatic jab. She was somewhat angry with her husband—partly because Jerome was a whisper of being in the right here, partly because Jerome had always thought the boy was off._

_Silvia was well aware her middle child was given to flights of fancy and introspection, perhaps a bit too much introspection, but she was the one gave him permission to take himself off somewhere private. Maybe it was a waste of time, this dwelling on whatever it was that drove the boy away from his family, for however brief a time it was. Jerome simply was not built to understand that this little bit of time was a small price to pay to keep their son in line, to help wean the boy of fancies._

_Silvia glanced over at Jerome, who stood rubbing the bowl of his pipe, his narrow eyes fixed on her. Well. It was a solid fact that she'd been the one to give the boy permission, so yes, she was loathe to rescind it and give Jerome even the slightest hint that he might be fully in the right, and there was actually something more than _a wee bit off_ with their boy. _

_"He's too much in his head, Silvia. You know the Elders keep eyes on us, what with your granddad comin' from the Outside and all…"_

_He at least had the good grace to look somewhat embarrassed by his words, Silvia thought, and jammed the other peg down on the remaining corner of the sheet, using maybe a tad too much force, what with the way the line shook and all the wash vibrated. Even the clothesline prop that held the line up shook a bit. Jerome frowned at her, but she paid it no mind. "You know once Granddad made his way to the Lord, no one was more devoted."_

_"Well, yes, 'course, or we wouldn't be standing here with three children and a fine farm. It's just. Well, he should be courting some likely girl—what about that sturdy one in his class, why not walk to town with her. She's a good prospect—got her head on straight, that one. Raise a fine family, keep a man like him on the straight and narrow, no doubt."_

_"What you mean is, the girl is as stolid and as vibrant as a cow. She has the imagination of a clump of mud. But yes, she'd be good for the boy. Hold him down. A while with her would certainly knock the fanciful corners off of him," Silvia snapped. Though truth be told, she knew, and the Lord knew, the boy needed it. She was not a fool._

_Sometimes, she looked at her child and worried so much, she nearly shook. There was a cloud over that boy, and she had yet to decide whether it was something aiming to warp him out of shape, or something age would settle._

_Jerome peered at her, wafting a cloud of noxious pipe smoke towards her fresh, clean wash. "I'm thinking maybe you don't like her much."_

_She hefted the empty wicker basket to her hip and stared at the man her parents had encouraged her to choose, the man who'd fathered her children and allowed her to keep a good Christian home. She wiped annoying wisps of hair away from her face, and answered the man, clearly, slowly. "It doesn't matter what I think. Doesn't matter what the boy thinks. The only thing that matters is the will of the Lord."_

_"Sometimes, blood rises, Silvia. I worry. What if Jared…?" He fell silent, then turned and walked away._

_Silvia stood watching him, the basket nearly falling from her hands as she shuddered. From fear? From anger? She honestly wasn't sure which. She knew she needed to pray this evening, for patience and understanding, for wisdom, and for the Lord's favor to fall on her family._  
=+=

The sun would rise in a half hour—he could practically feel the weight of it behind the purple morning clouds. He knew it was selfish, but he thought of this as _his_ time; a part of the day he'd always been told was a gift from the Lord to his children. Come winter, come spring, summer or fall, this quiet, soft part of the day belonged to him. He'd made sure the goats had been fed, chicken feed had been doled out and fresh water given. He'd done his part of egg gathering, setting the full basket in the kitchen doorway for his mama. Made a pot of caffee and set it over the stove's warming grate, and now he was high up on the hill overlooking the valley Mountain Grove was in—sitting on a fallen log flanked by two thick bushes which afforded him a nice bit of privacy. Not that it was any sort of secret spot—everyone knew where to find him if he wasn't in eyesight—but most everyone granted him the favor of pretending he had privacy here. After an hour or two, he'd go on to complete his chores, but right now….

He sighed deeply in contentment as he pushed the long, tangled strands of chocolate-and-chestnut tinted hair back from his face, tucking the stubborn bits behind his ears. A whip of still chill morning air snapped through the bushes making his hiding spot. He shivered, rubbing his bony hands together briskly, then rubbed sleep from his eyes before scrubbing his thin cheeks as well, frowning when the pads of his fingers bumped over the moles on his face. He hated them, especially the big one squatting next to his ridiculously pointed nose.

″Tsssk. I warn you, you drop that line of thought right now, young man,″ he scolded himself. The inner voice that came out to scold him whenever he descended into ridiculous flights of fancy sounded a lot like Mama, he noticed. 

Still, that voice was quite correct. Pointlessly worrying about the looks the Lord gave you was vanity, and vanity was a sin. So his mother taught, and if she declared it so, odds are it was true. Vanity was a waste, really; it was staring at yourself in the mirror and mostly finding things that were wrong. Like stringy hair that just wouldn't cooperate with a brush, or weird eyes that couldn't decide if they were green or blue or gray or brown, and the _moles._ Gosh heck, so many, many moles….

And of course Miss Bartnik also taught that vanity was a sin, and there wasn't much that Miss Bartnik didn't know, so smart she was. _And_ so pretty. Jared was positive she had no worries over vanity. Besides, the Bible said that about vanity as well, in...somewhere in there, he was pretty sure. 

Anyway, those were thoughts for another day. His stomach chose just that second to let out a loud and urgent gurgle, reminding him that there was something more important to think about at the moment—namely, food. 

He pulled a large, lumpy, red-and-white starred bundle from one pocket, and a vacuum flask from another. From the lumpy bundle—which that morning had been a bandanna belonging to his dad but now was doing duty as a meal wrapper—he took an ungainly sort of sandwich: two fat cuts of bread embracing a thick slathering of sweet butter and honey. The honey was thick, a dark gold, and just the thing to satisfy his horrible sweet tooth. 

He took a generous bite out of his sandwich, gulped at the caffee straight from the flask. "Mmmm…ow! Peanuts!" That darn stuff was _hot!_

He waved his hand frantically over his mouth, like somehow that'd help with the burn. And despite the inside of his mouth feeling like an oven on fire, he impatiently stuffed in another huge bite, as big a bite as he could manage. Here in his private little bower, he could stuff his mouth full, guzzle his drink as he wished, because no one was there to remind him of his manners. 

"Fweedom," he crowed, spraying crumbs and a dribble of caffee down his chin, almost choking himself like a fool. Freedom could be dangerous. 

He wiped his chin with the bandanna and tucked it into the inside pocket of his barn-coat. Grinning into the growing sunrise, he let himself feel how _good_ it was to just be himself, even when himself was not quite the perfect example of a Family boy his mama was trying to raise. He had to thank her, though, for these moments when he got to be alone. It was his mama who'd more or less insisted his daddy let him have these morning hours. It must be mother's intuition, that she knew of her children, he was the one who needed time alone. It was generally not something that The Family were prone to, this solitariness, especially not in Mountain Grove, smaller than most Family communities were. Mama did her best to understand her odd chick, though, so he did _his_ best to repay her, by not being annoying during the rest of the day, and trying to be as useful to Mama and Daddy as possible. Not matter what his irritating siblings said. 

Leaning back against his log, he watched the peaceful, slow, climb of the sun over the clouds; sunbeam by sunbeam painting the valley—filling the leafy bowl below him with golden light until its rays burst over the hills on the other side, setting the trees to glowing a rich emerald, richer than any jewel could be. He drank more of his caffee, grateful to the Lord for this moment. When the sun was fully up, he made a mental list of the chores to be done for the day. If he was quick enough and efficient, he might even win a trip to the library today. He was past due a reread of his favorite, [Treasure island.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Treasure_Island)

"Jared! Jared, are you up here?″

The reedy voice of his little sister startled him out of his thoughts—that child had a yap that would paralyze a screech owl. She was worse than a cat caught in a room full of rocking chairs. She was—with a very small frown, he set his cup down. What was she doing up so early, anyway—oh! "Mercy, is it Dandi?″

"Yes, yes! Dadda sent me out to get you, he said you better shake a leg if ya want t'see the foal be born,″ she shouted, her thin voice stretched to the limit in her enthusiasm. She dashed straight at him, her cream-colored sweater flapping in the breeze, her long plaid skirt dragging and catching on thistles and wild roses as she came running. "I'll help you,″ she crowed, and snatching up his cup, flung the contents into the grass and screwed the cup back onto the thermos quickly.

"See? Finished!" she warbled, looking immensely pleased with herself. Jared glanced mournfully to where his caffee soaked into the dirt, still steaming a little in the chill air. 

He turned back to his sister, mouth opening to scold, but how could he when she looked at him like that—her little dimpled cheeks, green eyes sparkling, and her entire self so anxious for praise? "Um...thanks? I mean—thanks, good job saving me time,″ Jared said and crammed the rest of the bread into his mouth before she decided to help him there, too. "Ofay, lef go, Merfy.″

"Jared! What a piglet you are! If Mama saw you cramming bread in your mouth like that, my stars!″

"Well,″ Jared gulped and swallowed, wiping his chin with the heel of his hand. "She didn't, and lucky me. Ready?″

He took her hand and started running, and she flew behind him trying to keep up. She twisted up a handful of skirt so she could run faster—her pigtails streamed out behind her like wings, filling the air with uproarious laughter. Jared loved his sister's laugh—unrestrained, and completely unlady-like. She drove their mother crazy with her refusal to be a delicate, demure little thing. Besides, she might as well be Jared's twin, taller at her age than she should be, thinner than a rake, just like him. They were all taller than their parents for some reason; him, Mercy, and their older brother Jesse, who Mercy and Jared had long ago decided was really a grizzly bear in disguise as a boy. 

Jesse was taller than anyone in the family—probably in the whole county. In contrast to himself and Mercy, Jesse had darker hair, darker eyes, and a sour, old disposition. Oh, he'd have his laugh occasionally, but Jesse had set his sights on one thing only—running the farm. This was their family business, and as far as he was concerned, thinking about anything else was a waste of time. Time he didn't have to play the fool like Jared—leastways, that was his standard response to any of Jared's suggestions involving anything that might be fun. 

Except fishing. 

On the days when Jesse parked his work boots behind the door and wore an odd little peaked cap instead of his usual straw sunhat, Jared would run to grab their fishing rods, and sweet-talk their mother into packing them a lunch. Jesse would sigh and grumble and act like it was a horrible imposition, but he always let Jared tag along, always. 

Jared loved those days. Jesse was always in a good mood, and willing to listen to Jared ramble on and on, or at least let Jared's words flow over him without comment. Jesse never really responded to Jared's endless stream of observations regarding life and all but that was okay. Jesse smiled and sometimes nodded like he was truly listening, and that was all Jared needed. Jared looked up to his big brother, really admired him, and hoped one day to be just like him. 

Well, maybe not as much a grouchy, old bear. 

=+=

By the time Mercy and he had made it back to the barn, Dandi was deep into labor. Daddy, along with Mr. Dudek from the next farm, were washing up. They'd tossed their coats over a stall door, and rolled their sleeves all the way up their forearms. They were bent over the barn's sink, speaking quietly and seriously to each other, Daddy stopping to nod thanks to Jesse, who brought in a large basket of food. 

Mercy and Jared both knew enough to keep quiet, and stay out of the way. They sat on Daddy's workbench, pushing tack that needed repairing out of the way. Jared could barely stay still, he was that nervous and excited. Daddy had promised Jared his own horse—Jesse had gotten his at thirteen, so it was only fair. 

Daddy and Mr. Dudek stand on either side of Dandi, whose stomach was contracting in waves—her body trying to push the baby out. One long, stick-thin leg slid loose of her body, the other seemed bent under and caught. 

Mr. Dudek eased the foal's leg loose, gently twisting, tugging carefully, slowly. Daddy stood nearby; not too close but ready to help if needed. It was so quiet, Jared could hear Dandi's rapid panting, the liquid sounds of her painful effort. Finally after a few tense minutes, the sac surrounding the little foal split, with a gush of blood and fluid, the foal went flopping into Mr Dudek's hands, and he and Daddy eased it to the hay covered floor. Dandi trembled, took shaky steps to look around at her baby, and the foal took shaky steps of its own. The men guided it to Dandi's teat, quickly stepping back out of the way when the little thing latched on.

"There you go, Padaleck—all's right with mother and son."

Daddy winced at the unwelcome shortening of the family name, but graciously thanked Mr. Dudek for helping. He promised Jeff and Jared's help on the next harvest. Jared groaned inside—there wasn't much he hated more than field work, but what could he do? Best to just clamp down on the bit and smile, smile, smile. 

_Peanuts,_ but he hated field work.

Daddy called for the food basket, so Jared snatched it up from under Mercy's hand and ran it over, eager for his look at the foal. It snorted, kept on sucking greedily, not really interested in anything yet but milk. 

"There you go, Jared," Daddy said. "This little fellow is all yours. All the work," he said sternly, "and all the joy," he finished on a softer note, and Jesse smiled at him over Dandi's back. 

Daddy pulled two glass bottles, one full of beer, the other lemonade, from the basket, along with a few clean mason jars. "Here you go, Dudek. Beer and some good sandwiches the wife's made for us, and let's see...ah, some cheese, and look there, cookies. Mother must be in a good mood this morning, " he laughed. He pulled out a covered plate holding a few thick cuts of the cheese and handed them to Jared, had Mercy help spread a tablecloth over the cleared off bench and then set out plates and glasses for them all. There was some fruit as well, and a couple of slices of pie. Jared smiled—this had shaped up into one heck of a great day. Daddy smiled at him too, chuckling at the foal's enthusiastic nursing as he ate his sandwich.

"Reminds me of a certain someone," Daddy said, and Jesse agreed with a laugh. And really, Jared thought, there was little difference between his brother's obnoxious laughter and the braying of a donkey, there really wasn't. Mercy stole a look at Jared, her face gone all pink and her lip caught between her teeth.

"Ha, ha," Jared said. "It wasn't that funny. I don't eat that much."

"Okay, Jared, you don't," she said, "but that was half a loaf of bread you had for your breakfast this morning."

"holerah," Jared muttered, and of course Daddy caught him cursing and there flew right out the window any chance of visiting the library. He started to frown—inside, of course—before he remembered. He owned a horse. His very own horse! 

That tugged a smile out of him, despite the fact that he'd almost certainly be the lone body cleaning the stable this morning.

=+=

Jared lay sprawled out on his bed, listening to Jesse gently snoring away in the opposite side of their room under the eaves. The oil lamp between their beds was lit—the electricity having been shut off for the evening—and there was just enough light to read by, or to draw, and since Jared found it hard to contain his excitement about Dandi's foal, he drew the little thing's profile all across his tablet, not even worrying about the scolding he was sure to get for wasting chalk. How could he help being excited, though? Especially since right before bedtime, Daddy had shaken Jared's hand, praising him for the work he'd done that day and cementing the promise that the foal was to be all Jared's. Jared couldn't wait to begin taking care of him. 

=+=

"holerah!" Jared snapped, and danced sideways, tripping over his own feet and ending up stumbling over the brush he'd dropped. He flicked his gaze around guiltily, thankful no one had heard him. He bent to get the brush, Mercury watched him with an oh-so-innocent look, bits of hay dancing on his lip as he chewed. He bumped Jared again, and again the brush went flying as Jared stumbled. He wiped away the bits of chaff stuck to the sweat on his brow and cheeks, and marveled anew how the dang barn doors were set in the walls in such a way as to keep the slightest little gasp of air from breaching the oven the barn became in summer. 

Mercury swayed his way again and Jared jumped back quickly, the brush clutched in a stranglehold. "Ha! You won't catch me again, you evil thing," he crowed. 

Merc's perfidy didn't stop Jared from offering Merc a carrot he'd filched from the kitchen table that morning. He smiled, exasperated and fond, as the colt lipped the bit of carrot off his palm. Jared gave a quick stroke over the velvety nose before gathering everything up to put away.

A year had already passed since Mercury became his, and despite his grumbling and complaining, Jared was happy to have him. He gave Jared an outlet—a perfectly trustworthy confidante, someone he could tell all his secrets to; one who would never judge him for his looks, or appetite, or inability to rein in his tongue, as some older brothers falsely claimed. In fact, in most ways, Mercury was better than Jesse to talk to, he thought, and leaned into the colt with a chuckle. 

A year gone by and he was almost fourteen. That meant now he'd do more than sit in the school house. Come fall, he'd be helping Miss Bartnik with the little ones in his last year, just like Franklin and Martin and Anne had done before going on to Runround and then, to settle in and begin a new life with their spouses, and someday children, on their farms. Jared squinted, trying to picture Franklin with a wife, standing in his own fields, his freckles obscured by a heavy tan. 

"Hmmm." For some odd reason, Jared was less than pleased with the idea. Maybe it was because Jared couldn't picture himself doing that—working from sunup to sundown, wearing oneself out on the land, and not getting all that much in return, in his opinion. He gave Mercury a soothing pat, just now realizing he'd been gripping the poor horse too tightly and probably making him anxious. 

"It's going to a heck of a new year, now I'm part of the Seven and Eight years," he chuckled. "Hope having all that power doesn't go to my head," he whispered into Merc's ear. "'Course, seeing as how I'm the very perfect picture of modesty, I'm sure that's not a worry."

Merc snorted and shook his head, and Jared took that as agreement.

=+=


	2. "Welcome to a new school year, and welcome to our newest crop of scholars," Miss Bartnik told the pupils crowded into the school's middle classroom.

Their school was a little building, no more than four rooms, set at the end of a long road lined with apple trees. The school had been built with donations from the town, to replace the original building which the Elders finally deemed to be unsafe for the children. It had been incredibly exciting for all the kids, but Jared in particular had been fascinated by every aspect of it: the way the land had been cleared, which involved a combination of Outsider's steam vehicles and Family's oxen teams, followed by the building's construction, and then a replanting of lawn and shrubs, and finally the building of a play area, the first real one the school children ever had. Not to mention the addition of indoor plumbing, finally catching the school up to the rest of the town. Jared was so relieved not to have to deal with outhouses at school ever again. Blessed relief, never another squeamish First year reluctant to open the ancient outhouse door—something that Jared heartily empathized with. Never again having to deal with those huge black and yellow spiders, the ones that seemed to see the outhouses as a perfect place to raise a family of a million or so babies every fall.... 

Part of what made it all so fascinating to Jared were the Outsiders, who'd had special permission to come in and work. They were like magicians, Jared thought. The People of Mountain Grove Family weren't allowed the heavy steam vehicles the Outsiders used. Mountain Grove didn't have the way of working steel like some Families—no raw material, and no one educated in the process of smelting and forming it. The steel beams the Fathers wanted for the building could only come from the Outsiders, and so they were allowed in.

It was something that happened from time to time, Outsiders coming in to do jobs the Elders wanted done. The Outsiders tended to be polite, quiet, and mostly kept to themselves—on request of the Elders, but they seemed to prefer not to socialize very much with Family on their own. The rumor was that the strangers did bad things, and that's why they kept to themselves. Jared had to admit, he had some curiosity as to what exactly made these bad things so bad...not that he'd ever speak his curiosity out loud. He'd heard about some of the things they did that were unacceptable: their movies, and dance halls, the way they dressed and spoke to each other, but in the same way that he'd heard about, say...Paris, or elephants, or the ocean. He knew that Outsider families each had their own phones, while his community shared a single phone, proudly installed in the post office. And then, oh my word, there were the _cars._ They came in cars and trucks that were simply amazing—great steaming heaps of metal, those wonderful horseless carriages.

Jared wasn't totally ignorant of their ways—he was fully aware how different his life was than boys from the outside, and that maybe Family looked like hicks to those worldly boys. Jared didn't care, though. It was just—they were so interesting, these Outsiders, and Jared certainly looked forward to taking his Runround, and finding out more before settling into adult life in the Grove. 

He even planned ways to take it a little bit early, spending evening hours in bed after lights out, spinning little fantasies about what he'd do, and how he'd do it. His secret fascination with the Outside drove him to pick at every little crumb of information he could get. He had watched those Outsiders, watched them listen to some exciting something on their tiny handheld radios, and caught snatches of odd and somehow thrilling music that came from the radios that they'd also had in their cars—such lack of thrift and modesty! So many useless things, so much wasteful consumption of goods and a tiny part of Jared absolutely thrilled to that. 

He didn't have any desire to leave everything he'd ever known for good, of course—this was his _home,_ his People—but radios! Cars! Music! 

And some of those Outside people had dark skin, dark as caffee, and fascinating. He longed to get closer to them, to feel that skin and see if it was as soft and rich as it looked. He was fascinated with how different their skin color was to everyone he'd grown up with, and how their hair was different and wondered why all of Family looked basically the same. The Outsiders were all _different,_ some as pale as milk, some the color of wild honey and some that rich, dark caffee. Jesse said that was because the Outsiders came from different places all over the world, and the Lord had changed each person just a bit to help them live where they were born. Jared thought that was wonderful of the Lord to make so many different, beautiful kinds of people.

"You see, in places where the sun is very bight and hot, Outsiders' skin is dark to protect them from frying in the sun. Like Anne and her family, who just get all speckled and then burn bright red."

Jared knew just what he meant, those poor Klimeks. The whole family looked like red potatoes all summer long. The sun liked him, though, along with the rest of his family. They turned brown like toast, and never burned under the sun. He nodded. Jesse was smart, and the Lord was generous.

One of the Outsiders in particular had fascinated Jared. He was tall, and very dark, with the biggest, brownest eyes Jared had ever seen, eyes like a faun's, and lashes so long they cast shadows on his cheeks. They were so soft, and kind, and his broad cheeks and broad nose lent a friendly, comfortable air to his face. Whenever he saw Jared, he smiled—just a bit, nothing showy, and tipped his head minutely. Jared had almost felt like they were friends. Secret friends. Every morning, they'd passed each other on the road and nodded, almost smiled. Jared hoped the boy hadn't thought he was silly, the way he'd blushed with pleasure at every almost-greeting. 

The day the Outsiders had all got into their vehicles for the last time, their bags and toolboxes packed up one last time, was such a sad day for Jared. He'd run to the spot he knew the vehicles would pass, and when a particular truck passed him, the boy in the back had looked right into Jared's eyes, and Jared had made a tiny wave. The boy's face had lit up and he made a tiny wave back, and his smile had been wide and bold and beautiful. 

Jared was sure that if only he'd been allowed to talk to him, they would have become the best of friends, he knew it. But that was not allowed. Just a one month long Runround and then, there'd be a decision to make. Though like most all the Family's children, Jared had no doubt that he'd choose his Home. There was nothing in the world out there that could compare to family. 

=+=

"Welcome to a new school year, and welcome to our newest crop of scholars," Miss Bartnik told the pupils crowded into the school's middle classroom. "We're going to have such fun together, and learn many wonderful things. The first thing we learn are the rules, and meet who is going to help us learn them." She turned and smiled at Jared. 

"Jared, as one of our two oldest students, is going to work with our second years and our brand new first years, who will have class in the first room. Clarice will help with our third and fourth year students, who will be sharing this room with the fifth, sixth, and sevenths" She pointed to an opposite corner of the large room they were in. "Now, you eighth year students, all two of you," she chuckled, "are in the third room. I'll give you your syllabus and expect you to work on your own. I know all my scholars are going to do the best they can to make their families and Mountain Grove proud." She stopped and blew out a long breath. "Well, that was a long speech—what say we get to work now?" 

The children giggled, ricocheting off of each other as she waved them out to their classrooms. 

This was the year Jared had been waiting for. It was his and Clarice's turn, as the oldest students (and the sole eighth years), to work with the younger students now. Tradition always called on the older students to assist as teacher's aides, at least those that chose to keep going on in school.

In Mountain Grove, and Jared thought it most likely true of the rest of the Family communities, most students left school as soon as they could, and worked in family fields or businesses in the town. Education in the Family's lands never did go much past what the Outsiders considered eighth grade, unless a person planned to work in some needed, specialized field.

There were boarding schools in the Outside where the Family's children completed their high school years before going on to an Outsider college or trade school: electricians, machinists, accountants, nursing, but more commonly agricultural studies, because it was good to keep up with the newest ways. Growth was important—without the influx of new ideas, Miss Bartnik had always explained, the community became stagnant. But new knowledge required gatekeepers, the role of the Elders, who held the most important job in the Family—making sure the good was winnowed from the bad. 

Jared had been taught this was the way of the world since infancy, and he could certainly see the sense in it. But...if new ideas were so necessary for healthy growth, why be tested by those old and set in their ways? Not that there was the slightest bit wrong with that, not at all, Jared hastily thought, and glanced around feeling a bit guilty at what had skipped through his brain. He fully believed that the Elders knew everything, of course they did. And if his thoughts sometimes wiggled in an opposite direction it was just because he was young. When he was an adult, he'd see the truth of it. 

Mama said so, and she was not a woman to be contradicted. 

Gathering his very excited little charges, he shooed them into their class room. The freshly plastered walls gleamed, so white and bright, and so soon to fall victim to little hands covered with paint and charcoal. This room had desks that were basically one long table, with benches attached—the better to keep the little critters in one place, he thought. In the rooms for the older children, there'd be a bookcase holding their library books, and a reading station next to it—basically a bench where the lucky children could sit and quietly read while the others did their school work. 

In the First and Second years' room, there were a few sand tables along one wall where the book shelves would be in the other rooms. They had their very own small wood stove, so that he could warm their lunches and keep the room comfortable, especially now that the weather was so chilly. He had them hang their coats and hats and scarves on the wall hooks near the door, sighing as they bounced along like a herd of wild rubber balls, assaulting Jared's ears with waves of high pitched chatter. He rubbed at his temples. He'd had a low-level headache from the moment he'd woken that morning, a nagging throb that even caffee hadn't eased. The ache seemed to flow down from his head to his gut. He rubbed at his stomach, frowning briefly...what a morning. Well, regardless of how he felt, it was time to gather the little monsters together.

"Okay, everyone, Circle Time, let's go!" He clapped his hands and smiled inside at their immediate response. They all ran together, wiggling and pushing until they were more or less in a circle, little faces turned up to him in anticipation.

"Our first class is going to be about the Families, and their journey to the New Land."

"America," one of the little ones piped up. "Pennsylvania!" squeaked another.

"Yep, correct, the both of you," Jared said, "but no calling out of turn, okay? Our Family came to America and settled in the state of Pennsylvania. Here, we formed the town of Mountain Grove, other families settled here as well, and formed the towns of Rodney, Cilkirk, Wohas, and January. Did I forget any towns?" he asked, and waited, and sure enough, the kids all shouted their answer out.

"Pine Valley!"

"You're so smart," he said, with a wide smile, and turned to a felt board hanging behind him on the wall. On the table next to it was a basket filled with felt shapes. He selected one, held it out for the kids to identify, and then pressed the ship to the board. "We came here in ships like this," he said, " all the way from across the sea and settled here because in our old lands, we had no freedom."

The kids were entranced, watching as Jared pressed different shapes on the board. "Our church struggled against the cruel laws in the old land, but here, we could make our own choices and worship the way we knew our Lord wanted us to." He pressed a final shape on the felt, a big, white church, topped it with a cross, and turned back to his little scholars. 

"So, who can spell 'sea'?" he asked, and the little ones dashed to the sand tables, fresh new writing quills poked into the sand like a crop of feathers.

The Seconds had some working knowledge of the alphabet and spelling, and all of them were eager to show Jared what they could do. They helped the Firsts, who were standing with their feathers in their hands, a little unsure, but eager to give the sand tables a go. Jared was sure that he'd find more drawings of cats and dogs and _"our cow, Bossy,"_ than S's or E's or A's. 

Cute little beans, he thought. Bless their mothers for having the patience to deal with them day in and day out. He was turning towards the stove, ready to add a chunk or two of wood when he staggered, hit by a knife-sharp cramp, an odd sort of pinch/ripple that shot down his gut. He was about to go to the middle room in search of Miss Bartnik, when an outraged shriek pierced the air. 

_Aaand, here we go._

Pain necessarily shoved to the side, he hurried to separate Timothy and Martha, who were doing their best to eviscerate each other with their sand quills, and then untangled Kris and Jimmy and made them make peace and then comforted Sarah who somehow had managed to get sand in her eyes. He made a fuss over their shaky, just barely legible letters—made some corrections as he guided his young scholars into a really close approximation of 'sea'. And then it was lunch time, and calls of "Mr. Jared, he stole my cookie," and "Mr. Jared, this soup is too hot/cold/thick/runny/soupy…"

Who in their right mind would want one of these little things?

Another stab of pain shot through him, but he and Clarice were too busy making sure the First/Seconds didn't drown each other in the toilets on their bathroom break. Those new toilets were still a source of wonder to the young ones, and they had a fascination with them that confused Jared. Sure, up until the last year, they'd had outhouses at the school—it had been an _old_ building, bare-boned as some of the Family still lived. In fact, the desks, the stoves, and the sand tables had come from it, but _all_ these little shin-gnawers had toilets at home.

Jared shook his head. Children. They were like little creatures from some mysterious, smelly, damp, sticky realm. 

Finally, they came to the end of a long day. He'd be happier about the day coming to an end, except he still had the rolling wave of headaches and the intestinal upset he'd woken up with _and_ a ton of chores waiting for him to do at home. School days didn't mean that their chores were lessened one bit. Daddy was a firm believer in idle hands being the devil's favored tools. 

He made sure each little scholar had the correct coat and hat and scarf, and then bid them a good evening and sent them on their way. When his classroom was finally empty, he spent a few more minutes talking over his day with Miss Bartnik, who made him blush with the praise she accorded him.

He lingered a bit on the steps after the teacher left, still waiting for his sister to be let go from the Fifth/Sixes. He was just a hair jealous that Mercy got to spend all of the day with Miss Bartnik, but was also proud that he was now an instructor too—more or less. 

Mercy skipped all the way home, hanging off of Jared's hand, swinging it this way and that, babbling on about what she'd learned that day and "the books, Jared! There are so many of them!"

Jared laughed, completely in agreement with her. Books were a wonder, and their town library had always seemed like a fantasy land to him when he was younger. Stepping in the doors had always felt like stepping into a different world—a better, brighter, fun world. 

"I'm glad you're liking the Fifth. I know you were worried, but I knew you'd have no problem. You have lots of room in your brain for knowledge."

She swatted him, giggling. "Well, if being smart means having a big head, then you must be the smartest boy in town," she crowed. 

He grabbed both her hands and swung her around while she shrieked with laughter, and when he let her down, she chased him down the lane, threatening his life in all manner of creative ways. They took their time heading home, taking the long way along the fruit trees before heading into the yard, stopping to pick the last of the berries from the tangled bushes crowding an old fence line. 

Jared stopped to show Mercy how to make a crown from asters. He sat on the grass next to her, watching her weave the stems together and doing his best to ignore the jabs of sharp-edged pain rolling through his gut...lower and lower, until it seemed he was sitting squarely on an ill-tempered porcupine. He couldn't complain too much, though—Mercy looked like a fairy queen with her crown of lilac-colored asters, and her hands full of berries. Her scratch free hands, since Jared had been gang-pressed into freeing the berries for the both of them. 

It was a solid thirty minutes past the time they were supposed to arrive home that they showed up in the yard, running across the bare square of dirt in a futile effort to not be horribly late. 

Mama stomped out onto the porch the second they hit the bottom stair. With her stocky frame encased in a plain gray dress, and her silver hair twisted into tight braids framing her face, she looked both regal and _frightening_ —in fact, a little like a battleship, Jared thought, and begged the Lord's forgiveness for his unruly mind, and thanked him also for not giving his mama the gift of mind-reading.

Steel-gray eyes skewered them both. Red cheeks, a tightness around her mouth and eyes were the only sign that she was not amused by their antics. In fact, Jared knew that _not amused_ wasn't the half of it. He was grateful that at least it wasn't Daddy waiting for them, because he'd have been waiting with the razor strop.

Without speaking a word, Mama sent them to wash up and help get dinner ready—after Jared had done his other chores of course. 

When brother and sister met again in the kitchen to help with dinner, both of them were red-faced and sweating, Mercy from ironing Daddy and Jesse's shirts for church, and Jared from cleaning out the stalls. Jared was still damp from cleaning himself up—the Lord save him if he tracked muck into his mama's pristine kitchen. 

=+=

Mercy and Mama began measuring out the ingredients for an apple pie, since Mama determined that there was time to prepare and bake it before Daddy came home. He was down in the town, helping Mr. Krupa with an extra large order he'd had from an Outsider business; an order of two dining sets, each with six chairs. Daddy was there to help Krupa pack them for pick-up, and knowing Mr. Krupa and his liking for chit-chat and gossip, it'd be a good while before Daddy made it home again. A nice pie would go a long way towards soothing Daddy's sure to be strung-tight nerves.

"We've got two hours to finish off the pie," Mama said, stirring the stew keeping warm on the back burner of the stove.

Mercy dropped a bowl of apples between them, the clang of the metal bowl smacking the table covering what she muttered, so Mama wouldn't hear; that Jared had the best of it, unless he wanted to learn how to starch and iron clothing. Jared agreed he'd shovel poopy straw, as Mercy put it, all day long before he'd iron shirts or wash clothes. 

He shuddered at the thought, glancing at Mama's raw, red hands. 

Jared grabbed an apple, tossed it into the air, and challenged Mercy to a contest. "Whoever can peel their apple in one long strip is the winner. Loser brings the wash in after dinner—along with their other nighttime chores," he whispered, and even though Mercy just rolled her eyes, he knew the challenge had been accepted. 

They giggled a lot, doing their best to be quiet about it, but eventually Jared caught his mama smiling at their antics and relaxed—seemed they'd been forgiven, once again. Jared crowed when he managed a nearly perfect long strip, and Mama declared him the winner, and awarded him a thick slice of apple dusted with cinnamon and sugar as his prize. Mercy glared at him. She'd have had to bring the clothes in regardless, but she'd been hoping Jared would be stuck with it. Jared, on the other hand, was magnanimous in victory—he stuck his cinnamon-dusted tongue out at her, but refrained from guffawing in her face. 

He was just finishing off his apples when Jesse came into the kitchen, his face and hands still damp from washing up. He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, at the sight of Jared sat at the table with Mercy and a bowl of skinless apples. 

"Woman's work again, Beans? Mercy and Mama don't need help here, there's things you could be doing, more useful things, I'm thinking."

"Women's work?" Mama turned from the stove and asked Jesse mildly, "So, son. Are you telling me you think this work has no value? That what women do is unimportant?"

"Nu—no! Mama, of course not," Jesse stuttered. "I'm just saying—"

Whatever it was that Jesse was 'just saying' was lost to Jared. The prickly porcupine feeling suddenly ratcheted up to a sword stabbing through his guts—a sword that he'd sat on. He managed to bite down hard on the scream that wanted to fly out past his lips. The pain grew until his eyes watered and for one horrible second he felt... _wet_ down there, as if he'd peed on himself—holerah—it hurt so darn bad he just might have.

He was thankful that everyone's attention was on Jesse being a gluepig. He had no desire to tell his mama he was about to burst into tears because his rear and his rod were both being filled with flaming skewers. He breathed deeply, hand shakily trying to peel another apple and ending up with a pile of slivers and chunks.

=+=

At bath-time that evening, Jared undressed reluctantly, hesitantly undoing his trousers. He was right. Something really not good had happened to him—he had to peel his underwear away from his bottom, something had dried, gluing them to his skin. The fabric prickled and snagged as he pulled, and he nearly fainted with the embarrassment and _fear._ What was wrong with him? What had he done? What in the world had happened? 

He squeezed his eyes shut like a baby when the fabric finally came loose; peeked, one-eyed, down at himself, afraid of what he'd see. 

He gasped. There was _blood;_ a good-sized splotch of blood stained his underwear. His knees went rubbery—he just managed to hold himself up by the bathroom sink. Terrified, he felt gingerly around his rear, reached between his butt-cheeks and reluctantly touched his opening, because where else could the blood have come from? All that pain this afternoon….

He pulled his fingers away, wincing and squinting at them.

They were clean, and dry. He felt around his penis and balls and found _nothing._ He prodded at his sphincter again, a little harder this time; came away with the faintest bit of dried red crust on his fingers. Whatever had happened, was not happening now. He went to pull his fingers away again and hissed—he must have scratched himself prodding places that shouldn't be prodded. He felt a slight swelling, a welt between his opening and his balls that stung, and a bit more blood around it, this blood being tacky instead of dried. He pressed harder, and gasped as his finger sank into the welt, slipping in to the first joint. There was a thing there, there was a—another opening? He snatched his finger away, confused, terrified—and definitely not wanting to linger there. 

He bathed himself quickly, and gingerly felt himself after, his face on fire with embarrassment. For touching himself, for his rod thickening up as he did. The other opening was still there, but the pain was gone. His rod stiffened even more, what with all the handling he was doing. He dropped his hands, folded them together and fell to his knees on the hard, tiled floor. He prayed, begging forgiveness, and kept on praying until his rod finally softened again. 

His dreams that night were awful; he dreamed the barn and stables were on fire, and he ran away with Mercury, riding crazily, crashing through through woods and rivers with the fire chasing him like a thing alive, thirsting for him.

When he woke, his underwear were wet, only this time they were wet with the proof of sin. He washed them out, and stuffed them into his pocket and practically ran to his private place, where he hid in the bushes. There he had the added embarrassment of having to hang his underwear on a branch to dry, hoping the darn things would dry quickly, forgive his language. He sat morosely chugging caffee until he felt something like human again. 

At least the ill-tempered porcupine had abandoned his nether regions, he thought, and bleated out a shaky laugh, squirming on his seat in remembered pain and mortification, and fear. He had no one he could ask about this thing he'd found. No one had ever said anything more about boys besides they had penises, and that penises were trouble until a man was married and he'd find out about that on his wedding night. He drank his caffee down until there was nothing but dregs in the flask, and wished so much that he could just roll himself under the bushes and not come out again until he'd figured out every question he had—so, 'round about an eternity, he figured. 

=+=


	3. "So, Jesse," Jared asked, "have you given any thought on what you plan to do when you head out on your Runround?"

=+=  
It was the day after his birthday—the last he'd celebrate as a child—and Jared was taking complete advantage of the lazy couple of days he was being gifted. Turning fifteen yesterday meant the last time he'd have his own cake baked just for him, or be gifted a treat not on Christmas...at sundown this day he'd be considered a man by his community. Well, technically he'd be a man. He had no doubt that Mamma was still going to treat him like a little child, just the way she treated all the Padalecki men, and his brother and Daddy were definitely still going to treat him like he wouldn't be able to find his rear end with both hands and a detailed map. And would until he married, Jared supposed. 

Tomorrow morning, bright and early, he'd once again have to face the wrath of the hens, and slip around in goat poo, but today, he was the Birthday King. And, as befitting his birthday-kingliness, he'd spent most of a lazy morning trailing after Jesse, nibbling on the bag of sweets he'd gotten as his birthday-gift, and not _actually_ teasing Jesse by being so plainly exempt from chores—but, yes, sort of teasing him. Which was a pretty good gift in itself, seeing as how, as per custom, Jesse wasn't allowed to get back at Jared. Jared tossed a sweet into the air and caught it neatly in his mouth, and grinned at Jesse, who rolled his eyes and muttered, "Just you wait," under his breath. 

They were currently in the barn, with Jared nestled comfortably into a nest of straw and blankets, one leg looped over the other. He'd taken care of Merc, brushed and fussed over him, and now was relaxing watching Jesse groom _his_ horse, Beau. The rhythmic sweep-sweep of the brush led Jared to swinging his foot lazily in sync with him. He let his thoughts ramble freely in his head, nothing specific, until a particular thought tumbled to the front of his brain. 

"Uhm, Jesse," Jared asked, "have you given any thought on what you plan to do when you head out on your Runround? Or _when_ you plan to head out on your Runround?"

Jesse stopped, the brush coming to a rest on Beau's neck. He shook his head sharply. "I don't have time for that Runround mess," he said. "There's too much work to do, and I'm not interested—waste of time better put to getting life started, 'stead of skipping around all flibity-gibbet."

"Flibity-gibbet?" Jared snorted. "Well, hark at Uncle Methuselah—" He ducked the brush Jesse tossed at him with a huge laugh.

"You're an idiot, Beans." Jesse laughed shortly, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He sighed and said, "I guess I tell a lie about Runround, though. I am going to to it, just going to shrink it into a weekend. I've been asked on a camping trip. It seemed like it might be...fun,"Jesse said, in a tone of voice that said he was not entirely sure _'fun'_ was the word to use. "One of those Outsider boys, the ones who came to pick up an order of Mr. Krupa's dining room sets last week?" 

Jared nodded; oh yes, he remembered. They seemed like nice guys—they laughed a lot, and shoved Jesse around, but in a nice way, like he was a friend. They'd actually made Jesse laugh out loud. He remembered that one of the boys, with wheat-colored hair and green eyes, had seemed especially nice. He'd had such a nice smile….

Jared blinked. Jesse had been talking at him for a few minutes and he'd not heard a word he'd said—

"—since I didn't much care to go alone, I said I'd ask. How about it?" 

"Hunh?"

"Jared! I said they asked—well, Riley asked—if maybe you'd want to come along, so I told him I'd ask you. After all, you're old enough, and I figured like me you weren't all that interested in Runround, and this way, we'll get it out the way early, and be done with it. Join Church as full members and get on with life, eh?"

Jared fell back into the straw, staring at Jesse open-mouthed. When Jesse didn't burst into laughter and shout 'Gotcha!' Jared swallowed his astonishment and nodded slowly. "Yeah...yes...I mean, sure, that sounds good to me. It'd be good to go early, wouldn't it, it'd certainly let Mamma and Daddy know I'm ready to make my own choices."

Jesse dropped down next to Jared, and picked the brush up out of the straw. Tossing the brush from hand to hand, he asked, "Are you? You don't have to rush, you know. You're only just fifteen—" he held up his hand at Jared's annoyed huff. "I know, I know. You're old enough to make up your own mind about this. And I'll back you either way. You're smart, Beanstalk. Flighty, but smart."

Jared elbowed Jesse, and the two tussled back and forth a bit before Jesse shoved Jared under the straw. He came up laughing, sweeping straw out of his hair and trying to get it out of his collar. "Ow, you gluepig! Stop!" 

They settled back, grinning at each other. Jared elbowed Jesse gently, and said, "I've thought a lot about my future, y'know. I want to teach. I can help on the farm, and teach as well, and some day, Miss Bartnik might retire, and hand the job off to me. That being the case, the Elders will have to pay me full wages. I think it'd be a good life for me."

"That's actually a good idea. But if you do that, you know you'll lose your claim to the farm," Jesse said, his forehead creased with concern—but not anger. Jesse would be fine with not having to share the farm with Jared, that was plain. Jared smiled, and whacked him softly on the shoulder.

"Silly. I'm not worried about that. What, would you ever stop taking care of any of us if we had need?"

"Of course not, Beanstalk. I'd never, ever, turn you away."

"Well, then," Jared said. "I don't need to worry, do I?" 

Jesse answered by cinching an arm tight around Jared's neck, dragging him through the straw before rubbing a knot into his hair. "Fall of the Birthday King," he shouted, and flipped Jared flat on his back, ripping his precious bag of sweets away before leaping up from the straw and dashing for the yard. Jared staggered to his feet and ran after, screaming for his sweets. 

"Is this any way for a grown man to act," he shouted, racing through the orchard after him, and feeling equally outraged _and_ loved. An odd combination—but when it came to Jesse, a familiar one.

=+=

Just as he'd thought, Mamma and Daddy had very little to say against Jared going along with his brother on his abbreviated Runround. Mamma even seemed rather quietly proud that Jared had made up his mind so young as to what he wanted to pursue. Choosing a productive path was part of becoming a full-fledged member of the church—an adult. 

Daddy was a little reluctant to agree—with Jared's desire to take his Runround now, _and_ with his future plans. "This farm was meant for my sons to work, to pass down to their sons. Teaching...that's a dangerous job there, Jared. Puts all manner of odd thoughts in a man's head. It's a work better suited to women. They get no flights of fancy, and they know children, what they need and how to give it to 'em."

Jared came away from the talk with Daddy with the confused idea that teaching made a man want to leave the land for some nebulous something or other and that women had no imagination. However, judging by the thunder in his mamma's expression, that might not be what Daddy meant. He'd never know since he sure wasn't fool enough to ask Mamma what she thought Daddy meant….

Come the morning that it was time to go, Jared was beyond ready. He'd packed his rucksack days before, and only needed to grab a mat for the ground and his jacket. Mercy stopped him before he left the house, and pressed a baggy, knit thing into his hand. "It's a hat I knit for you, Jare, to keep you warm. It's going to get cold come night-time, and I worried."

Jared turned the baggy, grey and black thing around in his hand, not daring to crack the slightest of smiles. "Thank you, Mercy," he said seriously. "I love it." The smile he got in return put the sun to shame. He slipped it on, and was plunged into darkness as the hat sank past his brow and down to the bridge of his nose. "It's...it's perfect."

=+=

He and Jesse walked out to the Outsider road that crossed into a corner of their territory, and waited. A bus chugged past them, hissing out a cloud of steam, and Jared jumped up, almost stumbling into the road with excitement. 

"Sit, Beanstalk," Jesse said. "That's not the one. We're looking for the one that has the number ten on that little sign over the windshield. See how that one says seven?" 

Jared nodded, and settled again, his face red with embarrassment. He pulled the baggy knit cap even lower on his head in an attempt to hide his burning cheeks. 

Jesse laughed, but not unkindly, and jabbed Jared in the shoulder. "Lots of buses come and go here, Beans. Ten takes you into the part of town closest to us, the one we generally do business with. It's more like home—lots of farmland, open spaces. Now, Seven takes you to the part where it's more city-like—there's the big school there, where you go if you're not planning to work on the land, or you know, have no land to work." He said it like it was the worst thing he could imagine and Jared hid his smile behind the collar of his shirt.

"When you're teaching," Jesse said, like it was a done deal already and Jared flushed, this time in pleasure at Jesse's faith in him, " you'll get well acquainted with the Number Seven. You'll have to go to school, get a certificate that says you can teach in Family schools. Any Family school." 

Jared lost the thread of conversation for a moment. That was something that he'd never even considered—going out into other Family communities. Leaving home. Being his own man. It was an exciting thought; terrifying as well.

Jesse was still talking, totally unaware that he'd thrown open the doors to an _entirely_ new, exciting world for Jared with one little sentence. "And then there's Five, and that takes you right to the real city, all smoke and dirt and steam and cars and—" Jesse shuddered. "We don't go there. No reason at all to go."

Jared committed the numbers to memory just in case—as a teacher he'd need to know them. He knew Miss Bartnik occasionally went to the town on her own for school supplies. _The City,_ though...he had to admit, there was a sneaking tendril of curiosity coiling through him. Anything that gave his big brother the creeps absolutely got his attention. He wondered if it was true that no one of the Family had ever gone to the Big City. The whisper was that none had gone and come _back…._

Mind, there was no reason he could come up with to go—besides just being plain nosy. 

It was probably best not to go. It was _definitely_ best not to go. 

The city was probably full of terrible things, bad people and bad places. This trip they were on was more than enough adventure, their miniature Runround. Jesse and he didn't need more than this. They were smart guys, who knew what they wanted and they weren't about to get in any trouble. Jared nodded, full with conviction. No trouble at all. 

"Jesse, do you think they'll have beer—ow!" He rubbed his head and gave his brother as nasty a look as he could. "You pants," he grumbled.

"Beer? holerah, Beanstalk, try not to drive me crazy this weekend, okay?" his brother said, shaking with laughter. 

=+=

The bus they boarded was shaky old thing. It stank, Jared thought, of too many people in various stages of hygiene, and it was _loud._ Not so much the machine itself—the initial bang-roar of the engine firing up startled him into nearly falling off his seat, but after it was quiet; the bus just sort of hissed and grumbled its way down the road. _That_ noise was almost drowned under the noise of so many people having conversation, with people on the moon from the volume of it. Jared shuddered, and tried not to grip Jesse's hand like a baby. It was bad enough that people were staring at them, remarking on their clothes, and rucksacks, and shoes and probably Jared's huge bag of a hat—which he was coming to love for its hiding properties. Jared was not about to fuel their remarks by hanging onto Jesse like a little girl, or by looking back at them. What were they remarking on, after all? Surely they'd seen Family members before? Jared folded the rim of the hat back, and stared out the window, shutting out everything around him but the landscape swiftly rolling by.

Thankfully, it was a not long before they were at the bus station right at the outskirt of town. There weren't many vehicles, one or two cars, and the big, red truck Jared remembered seeing at Krupa's workshop was parked at the rear the station's lot, the bed filled with teens, it looked like—Jesse's acquaintances. They were all standing in the truck bed and waving wildly. 

It was a mixed group of boys and girls, and Jared was surprised, a little scandalized as well. Boys _and_ girls? He wasn't sure about that. They didn't do that at home. He looked to Jesse, ready to do whatever his brother wanted, but Jesse seemed absolutely calm and collected. As far as Jared could see, he had no reaction at all to this thing Jared found so overwhelming, so he decided the best thing to do was to emulate Jesse's calm. 

The drive to the campsite didn't take long at all. After a rather thrilling ride over questionably-paved roads, during which Jared only grabbed Jesse's shirt once, and might have gasped out loud a time or two, they very quickly arrived at a spot deep in the woods.

The site looked like it hadn't been in use much recently. The underbrush was starting to inch into the clearing where they were supposed to set up tents. Jared dragged his bag off the truck, looking around in interest. He'd never been camping before—couldn't see the point to it. Neither he nor Jesse had ever done anything like it. Luckily they'd been invited to share tents with Jesse's sort-of-friends. 

Besides lots of trees and rocks, there were a couple of fire rings, a water spigot which stood not too far from the clearing, and not much else. Jared figured that they'd have to make the woods their privy. He blushed deeply, horrified at the thought of having to share the woods with strangers. At least Jesse's friend said that the site didn't get much traffic at this time of year, owing to the chill, so he'd only have to deal with the people with them now. Embarrassing enough, Jared thought, and vowed to head as far out into the trees as possible when Nature made her demands. 

Jared was soon distracted by being put to work. The first thing they did was start fires, after which a few of the teens set to cooking—thank the Lord. 

Jesse emptied his pack, and handed Jared a small bag. "Coffee," he said with a smile at Jared. "There's a pot at the bottom of my bag."

Jared laughed. His brother always looked out for him. He bent down to empty his own bag, jumped when a hand touched his back. He leaped up, looking about wildly, and stared right into amazing, pine-green eyes. "I—I—" 

For some reason, the ability of speech abandoned him, and all he could do was imagine what he must look like, a beanstalk of a boy, covered with bumps, jaws moving to no purpose, and trying to crawl up inside his baggy knit hat without actually moving a muscle. 

The guy stepped back, tossed a long fall of autumn-wheat colored hair out of his eyes before holding out his hand for Jared to shake. "Hey there, I'm Riley, friend of Jesse's," he said, smiling wide. "Well, sort of a friend. Leastways, I hope to be better friends by the end of the weekend." 

Jared swallowed and worked his jaws pointlessly some more, his arm pumping slowly up and down, his stupidly huge hand wrapped around the boy—Riley's—smaller one. Riley seemed to realize that their hands were still intertwined, and let go, his wide smile gone softer, shyer. Jared fought the odd impulse to snatch Riley's hand up again. He really wanted to keep that warm, smooth, touch. 

"You are Jesse's brother, right? Jared? Yeah, I knew it was you. I hoped you'd come along. Here," Riley held out a slim, green bottle. "Join in, we're going to get royally smashed tonight. Tonight, no rules apply." 

The rest of the teens around them let out wild whoops, and waved their own bottles. Jared shook his head, overcome by the enthusiasm, suddenly too shy for words. Riley reached out and patted Jared's shoulder and pushed the bottle into Jared's hand. "I'll be back. I'm going to help with the tents. Drink up."

Jared took a sip of whatever it was in the bottle. _Beer,_ he discovered, bitter and thin, and not really all that tasty. But everyone else drank with enthusiasm, Jesse included, so as long as Jesse wasn't running over to dash it out of his hand, he figured he might as well, and drank deep.

Jared found he couldn't stop looking at Riley for some reason. He watched him make his way around the campsite, marveling at what a nice person he was, helping to raise tents, setting up the food, making people laugh...it seemed he was a take-charge person. His friends all looked interesting too—there was a short guy with close-cut, dark-brown hair, oddly pretty for a boy; he had the bluest eyes and the prettiest curl to hs full upper lip. Jared moved his fingers together, imaginary charcoal in his hand drawing that curve. The boy was grilling frankfurters on a stick, and talking to a girl with long, red hair and a bright, white smile. Jared noted that he should have been more interested in the breasts that her sweater lavishly displayed. He felt a mild sort of rise inside at the way they swayed slightly under the fabric, but it felt...far-away, like it was happening to someone else. 

Sitting next to her was a tall boy just covered with freckles like a farmer, husking corn and laughing with the girl whenever she turned her attention to him. Another boy with longish, blonde hair who looked like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth sat opposite them. Sitting in his lap, bold as can be, was a tiny girl with bobbed brown hair, whose sharp features somehow mixed together to make her beautiful. They were a loud, active group. They sang, they drank, passing around a bottle of what Jesse said was wine. Jared noticed another bottle making the rounds of the friends, one filled with a dark gold liquid. Whiskey, he thought, or something like it, from the smell of it. 

Jared was a little nervous, but Jesse was calm and kept an arm around Jared, making him feel secure enough to refuse the bottles as they passed him. He decided it'd probably be much safer sticking to the more familiar beer. 

After a while, the food was passed around, the franks, roasted ears of corn, and a pot of beans, along with chunks of bread—Jared loved the taste of frankfurters cooked over a fire, and enthusiastically took two, along with double spoonfuls of beans and one of the bigger chunks of bread. He'd grab the corn after….were those sugar dusted apples he saw at the edge of the fire?

Jesse frowned at him, but more out of habit than actual disapproval, Jared thought. Attention was devoted to their meals, soft conversation and the occasional hum of approval for the food. The freckled one swore the frankfurters were so good, he'd have to kiss the cook, and Jared's heart skipped a beat. Did the farmer-boy mean it? But the blue-eyed boy laughed at him, said hell, for a kiss, he'd have to beat him at arm-wresting first.

Jared was horrified on a couple of different levels—two boys playing at kissing! And cursing! There was cursing. He glanced at Jesse, who sat quietly, seeming indifferently, but the slight wrinkle of his nose told Jared differently. Jared stared down at his plate. With single-minded attention, he scooped up beans with his bread and wolfed down the franks and chased it all with another beer.

After the plates were cleared away and to Jared's joy, the roasted apples were passed out, guitars appeared; the freckled farmer boy got up and headed into the trees with the red-headed girl, and the boys left at the fire began playing their guitars—Jared could tell that it was meant to poke fun at the two leaving the fireside. After a bit, the foolishness slowly shifted to mesmerizing trills and runs of notes, chasing each other through the air. Jared's eyes slid nearly closed, his head bobbled in time with the tunes. He drank in the night air, the fresh scent of the fire, the delicious smell of apples roasting near the flames, and let everything go, every worry, every thought, he sat in the near dark and just _was._

After a while, Jesse clapped Jared on the back, startling him back into wakefulness and told him he was about to go water the roses, and strolled into the dark past the fire. Riley was magically in his place, a warm arm settling gently around Jared's shoulders where Jesse's had been; a sweet-smelling roast apple on a stick waved in front of Jared's face. Jared grabbed it, snorting when Riley snatched his baggy hat off and shoved it into Jared's coat.

"There, now I can see your pretty eyes. You okay, young man?"

Jared blushed at the odd comment as he picked the apple apart, letting the steam rise out of it. "Yes, thanks, I'm fine."

Jared didn't think he'd be able to stuff in another bite, but he discovered he had a little bit of room left—enough for the sweet treat. He shoved a piece in his mouth. It really was good. "Anyway, you can't be much older than me," Jared mumbled around the treat , feeling warmer and more confident having finished his beer, and now having a swallow or five of a second bottle. Or maybe his third. Fourth? He wasn't really sure anymore. He licked his fingers, and jumped when Riley spoke again, right in his ear, felt like. 

"Oh young one, how little you know. I'm much, much, much older than you—in spirit."

One of the boys dropped down on Jared's free side, the one with the blue eyes. "Whatever you do, don't listen to that one," he said. "Whatever comes out of his mouth is bullcrap." He laughed and held his hand out to Jared. "Chris," he said. "You're...Jared, right?"

Jared nodded silently, noting Chris really did have the most brilliant blue eyes and really was awfully, awfully, awfully pretty for a boy. He rocked suddenly to one side as Riley reached over him and slapped at Chris. "Shut up, Chris. You're just jealous—always been jealous of me, you jerk."

Chris laughed harder, and out of nowhere, the red-headed girl dropped down on his lap. These Outside girls, Jared thought….

"Who's that big guy from the sticks?" she asked. "I want that one. I'd love to get to know those muscles better," she snickered. 

"Shut up, Dee," Ri said. "This guy's his brother. Besides, what about Jack?"

She made a face, and then turning to Jared, said, "Sorry…I was just kidding, really." She mock-growled at Riley and said, "Besides, Jack knows I'm a flirt. That's all it is." She pushed the fall of red hair back, sweat making little tendrils curl around her heart-shaped face. Jared wasn't sure what she was sorry for but he could see how her entire attitude changed—from sort of sharp and. Well, _hungry_ was the only way he could describe it—to sweet. "Aren't you young for a Runround?" she asked, but in a genuinely curious way, nothing malicious in her question at all. 

Jared shrugged and smiled at her. She looked mildly startled for a second, before giving Jared a warm smile back. "I am fifteen, y'know," he said. "Fifteen is a little bit early to go, but not too early. I'm just getting it out of the way now, and since Jesse finally decided to go walk, I thought this was the perfect time." He leaned towards the pretty girl, and whispered—or thought he did; it was more of a hoarse shout, really. "Jesse waited looong, he's _nineteen_ —almost twenty!"

"Ah, I see," she said, laughter in her tone. "Well, your brother seems like a good guy." 

"Oh, he's the best. He's also grumpy, and pushy, and a sometimes a great, big ol' wet blanket, but he's a good guy, really." Jared giggled, and the world swam a bit before coming right-side again. "Oh…" He grinned. "I feel. Good. I think."

Riley laughed, "I think you are feeling very good." 

"Don't let him get too drunk, you know how Jack gets about that," the redhead said. "And speaking of," she murmured, got up and wandered off into the dark again. 

Chris didn't even watch her go, he punched Jared in the arm. "Come on, lightweight, git over to the fire with the rest of us." 

Jared followed the older boys and took it upon himself to settle in next to Riley. Guitars came out again and Jared was immediately caught up. 

Guitars were...different. Exotic. Guitars weren't something every Family approved for use. Some families were fine with guitars being used in praise of the Lord, but they were a firm _no_ for his Family _...weird,_ he thought, and gently burped.

Riley set his guitar down, but Chris and Steve, the boy with the long blonde hair, kept going, strumming their guitars as they slid into a song. Jared stared at them, open-mouthed. He glanced at Jesse, who had wandered back fireside and was watching them with a look not quite censure—in fact, he started tapping his foot to the tune after a minute himself, so Jared figured it must be okay to enjoy it. He watched, grinning, bobbing his head—totally amazed. The song came to an end, and the boys laughed at each other. 

Riley picked up his guitar again, and looked about. "Where's Jack? Get him over here."

At the sound of his name, the freckled farmer suddenly appeared out of the shadows, looking a little more rumpled than when he'd left and the girl—Dee—clutched tight to his side. "Forget it. I've got better things to do than howls at the sky with you guys, right?" 

He bumped the girl with his hip, but she turned big eyes up to him and pursed her lips in a mock pout. "Puh-leeeze, Jack-Jack, please?" Dee said, hanging off his arm and swinging back and forth until he let out a reluctant laugh. 

"You really are kind of a bitch," he grumbled, and though Dee laughed, Jared hunched over and flushed. He wasn't completely sure, but he thought that was not a nice word for a woman. He peered at Dee and Jack, and the uncharitable thought floated up, that maybe she wasn't a nice woman. He wondered if that meant Jack was not a nice man, even though he looked like a nice man... _can't tell a book by its cover,_ a thought that fizzled away in his brain when Riley pulled Jared close and whispered in his ear. "Don't worry. They're savages, but I'll protect you from them."

Jared smiled, and smiled even wider when he leaned against Riley and Riley didn't move away; in fact, Riley leaned in closer himself. His hand started to smooth up and down Jared's flannel sleeve. The constant, slow stroking felt wonderfully warm, so soothing. His eyes went slitted with pleasure; he felt like Mr. Mittens, Mercy's old cat...it felt so good. If he could, he'd purr the woods down.

He looked across the fire, and his brother was leaned back against a log, hands folded over his belly, head tipped back and he was snoring like an old sow. The sharp-faced girl caught Jared's look and giggled, shaking her head. She crowed, "Looks like you're out of luck, Dee!"

Dee looked over at Jesse snoring away, with wide and utterly innocent eyes. Jared wondered that no one could tell it was insincere. "What ever are you talking about, Sophie?" she asked, and held Jack's arm tight enough to make him wince slightly.

Jared watched the little by-play with fascination. He might not be a city folk like these Outsiders, but he could definitely tell when a body was being set up for a fall, and he saw Jack was in Dee's crosshairs.

Jared stood and staggered over to his brother, taking the tilting brown bottle out of his hands. Seems his brother lost out—or won, maybe—by falling asleep. Odd that he fell asleep like that, Jared thought. He peered at the brown bottle. Must be because ol' Jesse was a lightweight. Why, he couldn't even finish one little beer. Jared took a healthy sip, and nearly spit the liquid back out. Not beer— _whiskey,_ and it was _awful._ Jared giggled—once he'd gotten past nearly choking on the stuff. Well, guess what? He was going to drink all of this whiskey and show Jesse _he_ was the best at something for once, even if it was just drinking. 

Something cracking loudly in the fire behind him caught his attention. He turned around just in time to catch Jack tilt his head to the sky, close his eyes and begin to sing, softly, quietly at first, then slowly stronger.

Jared's mouth dropped open. Jack had a voice like an angel. _A little rough,_ he thought , _but a good rough, like walking through the fields when the sun was high and you've sneaked your shirt off and the hot rays danced over your bare back..._ Jared shivered; Farm-boy's voice slithered under his skin, and woke up in his belly, all warm and golden and...he stood frozen, listening to the most wonderful voice he'd ever heard in his life.

Someone came up behind him, warm and solid, and Jared couldn't help but lean back into them. He closed his eyes and let the wonderful voice roll over him as Riley, it turned out, wrapped an arm around him and linked his hands across Jared's belly. For some reason, between the golden warmth of Jack's voice and the heat of Riley's body at his back, he felt himself getting a little tingly, his penis started to stiffen up. Mortified, he tried to move, but Riley just leaned into him a little harder, and put his lips to Jared's ear. Jared turned his cheek to Riley, waiting for whatever it was he was going to say. Instead, the tip of Ri's tongue touched his ear; warm and smooth and a little wet, and it should have been uncomfortable, disgusting even, but Jared's penis went from tingly to rock-hard in a second. He was glad it was dark, because the way his face was burning, he must be as red as the fire.

He pulled away from Riley, confused, shivering, needing...something. "I, unh, I gotta, unh. Oh, boy. Gotta—"

"Pee?" Riley asked, with a laugh in his voice that even Jared, woozy as he was, could hear. Peanuts, he wished he could shrink down to the size of a mouse and—throw himself into a cat's mouth.

"Yunnh…" he said, and that was supposed to be a yes, but his lips just drooped uselessly. Darn lips. Darn peee-nisss. Darn...leggies. Where were his legs?

"Fuck, Riley," a soft, concerned voice said. "Help the poor kid out, take him back to his tent."

"I'll take him to mine—his brother is passed out and I don't think this kid has ever had a drink before, let alone stay up past ten."

They all laughed as Jared happily staggered off in Riley's grip. Good guy, Riley, he was so helpful. And warm. 

Riley's tent was set off a bit from the others, right back in the dark. Jared listed sideways and peered towards where he'd thought the fire was, but saw nothing but dark trees and dark ground and—and—darkness. The world was dark all over. "Hunh." 

The ground was dark too, but it was also soft underneath him, so Jared lay back, trying to ignore the way his head was swimming. He had the oddest sensation of being able to hear the others perfectly even though they were off in the distance. Laughter broke out and he could hear footsteps and then Dee coaxing someone past the tent, where it was even darker. There was another voice—one he'd never not recognize forever from this day on. Golden, like syrup, warm, like the sun. _Jack..._

He heard clothes rustling and realized that the clothes were his. Riley was right over him, a knee on either side of Jared. "Hey, I'm taking this off, okay? Don't want you getting sick on it."

That was good. Not to be sick. Sick was bad. But he didn't remember feeling...not good. How did Riley know?

"Will I get sick?" he asked, and Riley smiled.

"Hope not." He leaned down and touched his lips to Jared's and Jared was startled into moaning. He'd never kissed anyone before; he'd wanted to kiss, be kissed, so much. It was confusing, this wanting to be kissed and not caring it was a boy. A boy.

He was sure he'd never looked at a boy this way before, he'd never thought about them in this way. It had to be being here in this place. This was a fantasy land, where nothing was real and everything was allowed and it wasn't real it wasn't. 

When Riley pressed down on his mouth, he opened on a gasp. He didn't know why, but it seemed right to part his lips, to let Riley touch his tongue to his. To moan and sigh, and let Riley suck on his tongue. So good, little soft pulses, and to trace the silky smoothness of the inside of his cheek. It tingled, and he couldn't help but to thrust upwards with every pull on his tongue. His penis—his, his—rod, grown boys called it that, yeah...his _rod_ jumped like there was a string from his tongue to it, and he felt a wet pulse into his underwear with every sucking kiss. 

So _this_ was kissing—it was better than he'd ever imagined. He felt heavy, everything from his bellybutton down felt heavy, hot, and throbbed with the beat of his heart. Riley bit down on Jared's lip, then licked the brief pain away, sucked and bit him again, until his lips were throbbing and he nearly cried for wanting something—something else, _more._

He didn't know himself like this, he didn't know what was happening to him. "Help me," he muttered, and cried out when Riley's hand squeezed his rod.

"You like that? 'Course you do. Let me take your pants off, okay?"

Jared tried to think about what Riley asked; he tried to ask Riley not to, to wait a little until Jared could figure out what was going on, but then somehow his pants were gone, and then Riley was kissing him again, then Riley was touching him and it felt so good, too good, just rivers and rivers of little thrills running down his body, and filling his rod—and then.

Pulling his legs apart, Riley's touched him. His fingers were prodding and pushing at Jared and. 

Jared's lips wouldn't work. He wanted to tell Riley he wasn't sure if he liked this. It felt good, and then it didn't, and then it did—back and forth. 

A finger went inside him, it felt dry, too big, and made him feel sore. It slid in and out, and above him, Riley was muttering how good it would feel, how he knew Jared wanted it from the first moment he saw him, _"What a good lil' slut, fuck your mouth, too, wreck those pink lips, made t'be wrapped around my cock"_ —and then. 

Pressure and a sensation of something popping into his butt and then out again, it was...what was that? He opened eyes he hadn't even realized were closed. He peered blearily at Riley. "Wuh?"

Riley pulled back, groaning. "S'all wet, like a bitch in heat,...you're one of them, aren'tcha?"

"I'm not...what…?" Riley's rod was a long, dry drag against his butt, again and again, hard and hot, jabbing between his legs, sliding around, skating around his hole, and then—

And then Riley lunged forward. It felt like he was ripping inside, it hurt, it hurt. Jared opened his mouth to let out a scream, but Riley's palm came down on his mouth, hard, crushing his lips together. Jared shook his head until his nose was free of Riley's grip, he could breathe at least—and then.

At first, all Jared knew was that there was a lot of pain. A _lot_ of pain. Riley was moving against him, hard and fast, and there was pain like a flaming torch being shoved inside him that slowly became less painful, but never really better. He snapped back to himself and realized it was Riley's rod, and Riley was shaking and moaning into Jared's neck, like he was fighting not to shout out loud—smothering the sound so no one could hear, he realized. 

Jared's breath shuddered in and out through his nose, he _hurt,_ and stupidly was embarrassed by the spit building up under Riley's palm, smearing all over it, and his face. The motion against his body was making his rod stiffen again, and that _horrified_ him because this was wrong, and bad—and then Riley went still for a few seconds that in Jared's confused mind felt like minutes. Riley cursed, groaning "Fuck—" into his ear, and then was a dead weight on top of Jared, who couldn't move, couldn't speak, was finding it harder to breathe. He pushed against Riley as much as he could, but his head was swimming, he felt upside down and inside out and his eyes closed even though he didn't want them to. 

=+=

Something felt really wrong. Something hurt between his legs, it felt weird and wrong and wet. Sticky. 

Someone was shaking his shoulder. "Hey, wake up. You fell asleep. C'mon, you need to get up."

Jared sat up, blinking blearily about. He had no idea where he was, no idea what was happening. He peered at the boy hanging over him. Jack? "Where am I?"

"My tent. You must have crawled in here and fell asleep." He sniffed gingerly, and grimaced. "Or passed out. Where's Ri?"

 _Riley._ Jared frowned. Something bad about Riley, he wasn't sure what is was, until a sudden flood of memories crashed through his brain, wiping out everything except the thing he'd done with Riley. And what the consequences would be if anyone ever found out about it.

Jared's stomach rose up into his throat—he could feel his entire _insides_ rising up. 

"Shoot," Jack yelped, and turned Jared away from the sleeping bag he was laying on, and shoved him towards the tent flap, so that everything he threw up landed in the dirt instead of on the tent floor. "Oh, crap, what happened to you, kid?"

_"Jared!"_

Jesse was in front of him, his face like thunder. "What did you do? Look like you threw yourself offa cliff!" he shouted.

Jared looked down. He was a mess. Thank the Lord, he was at least dressed—sort of. His shirt was haphazardly buttoned, his coat too. He took a step towards Jesse, and his pants...his pants were on, but not closed, and they were barely hanging to his hips. 

Jared's whole face flushed hotly. He was so horribly mortified, he wished he _had_ thrown himself off a cliff. "I think...I th-think I fell down in the wo-woods," he stammered. The skin up and down his arms and his back and legs was stinging. Maybe he had fallen?

Riley's face suddenly appeared over Jack's shoulder. "Hey, Jared. Where'd you get to? You went off to pee, and you disappeared." The look he gave Jared was blank, no warmer than a mannequin's face. There was none of that sweetness there, no sign of the friendly, happy boy from last night. Jared curled over and threw up again, narrowly missing his brother's feet. 

Jack pushed Jesse back, and knelt down by Jared, despite the rancid puddle between his legs. "Jared...did something happen to you?"

Jared froze, ice cascading through him—did Jack know what happened, what he was? Jared shook his head frantically. "No. no. I'm fine. I'm good. Just, y'know, sore. From falling."

Jack looked unconvinced. He looked up at Jesse, who was seething about being pushed aside, but giving Jack the benefit of the doubt. Neither Jared nor he had experience of over-drinking. 

Looking up at Jesse, Jack said, "Maybe he should go home. I know you guys are supposed to be having some big freedom fun-weekend, but your brother really doesn't look good. He might just be hungover, but. If he was my brother—" 

"I don't need you to be telling me how to take care of my brother. " Jesse snapped. 

Jared knew his brother, could hear in his voice that he was stung at what he considered to be an accusation. Jesse elbowed Jack out of the way, and pulled Jared to his feet—carefully. He glared at Riley. "Can you take us home?'

"Sure," Riley said quickly, "of course. We'll help you pack up. No problem."

Jesse nodded. "Jared, you stay here with Jack while I get our things."

He walked off with Riley. Jack pulled Jared away from the vomit, and sat next to him. He was quiet, but it was a good kind of quiet, kind of like the quiet Jared felt when he sat in the barn with Mercury, or when he was in his private place. Just sat without speaking, until Jack sighed, and pressed a knuckle gently into Jared's knee. Asked again. "Are you sure you're okay? Because if you're not, you can tell me, I promise I won't say a word to anyone, unless you want me to."

Jared looked at him, shaking his head. There was no way he could tell Jack. His insides flipped again, turned to watery ice. What if Riley...but no. Riley wouldn't tell because than they'd know what Riley had done, and that had to be just as bad as being. Being forsaken by the Lord.

Dee came up behind them, crouched down between them and laid her hand on Jack's neck the same way Jared laid his hand on Merc's. Jack looked briefly annoyed, but his face cleared so fast Jared figured he must have seen wrong. "Okay, Jared, if you're sure you're all right..." he said.

Dee laughed. "Aww, Baby's First Hangover, hunh, sweetie? Don't coddle him like he's some infant, Jack. You're not a baby, are you Jared?"

Again, Jared shook his head. Dee laughed again and said, "This is yours, I think? You must have dropped it behind Ri's tent?" 

She held out his baggy hat. Jared stared at it like he'd never seen it before. He felt his skin go cold and clammy. He didn't remember dropping it, or having it, or much about getting to Ri's tent at all.

"Here." Jack took it, and slid his fingers under Jared's chin; they were warm and soft, not a farmer's hand at all. He smoothed over Jared's face until his hand was resting softly in Jared's hair, tilted Jared's head down and gently slipped the hat back on, and his warm, smooth, not-farmer's hand cuppped his cheek. "Are you? Really?"

"Ye—yeah." He stuttered, and managed to pull away from Jack, staggering to his feet. He hurt, from his belly button down to his knees. He hissed, shocked at how _much_ it hurt. Jack looked startled, but Jared waved him off. He felt sticky and sick. Probably from vomiting, he thought. He staggered off alone into the woods. "Gotta pee," he managed.

Once in the woods, he pulled his pants down to his thighs, and nearly vomited again when he realized his underwear were just—gone. A hot wave of shame swept through him, his knees going wobbly. He felt carefully between his legs and gagged, nearly vomiting again, when his fingers slid easily into that other opening, the edges swollen and puffy. It felt...it felt like it was open, gaping, and sticky fluid coated his hand when he yanked his fingers loose. He gagged again, desperately fighting down the desire to vomit, wiping his fingers frantically against the inside of his shirt. 

Jared closed his eyes and prayed with all his might, "Please don't let Jesse find out, please don't let Riley tell, please don't let my insides fall out, please, please, please, make it all just a horrible dream."

He rubbed away tears, and wiped his runny nose. He only wanted to be with his brother, get home, and lock himself in his room and then—he never wanted to think about any of this ever, ever, ever again.

When he came out of the woods, Jesse was waiting for him, and hustled him past the teens before they could even say good bye. When Riley opened the truck door and indicated Jared could sit by him, he just shook his head no, eyes on his feet as he quickly jumped into the back of the truck. He was so pathetically grateful that Jesse hopped back there with him, and carefully arranged their bags around Jared. They didn't speak. All the way back, Jesse sat silently, eyes squeezed tight, rubbing his temples and frowning.

When they pulled up to the station again Jesse helped Jared down, gentle, careful hands helping him to ground like some instinct was telling him that something was terribly wrong with his brother, he just couldn't figure out what. Jesse just grunted when Riley said goodbye, totally done with the Outside, and whatever it had done to Jared. Jared tried to grab his bag back from Jesse and in wrestling it away, didn't hear footsteps behind him—he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Riley's voice. 

Riley didn't touch him, acted like he barely knew him. "Nice meeting you, Jared." was all he said before driving off, leaving their bags in the station parking lot, leaving them staring after the truck. Jesse studied Jared's face for a long, heart-stopping minute until he took his brother by the arm and led him inside the small depot. 

Jared trailed after Jesse as he bought tickets for the return ride, followed him back to the long wooden benches in the waiting area. They sat silently side-by-side on a bench, their bags between their feet. They drank the little cone-shaped paper cups of water Jesse had brought back to them. He was staring at the brown and white floor tiles, set in a circular pattern, one that drew the eye. After a while, he sighed and said, "Beans, when the folks ask why we're back so soon, just tell them we decided that Outside was really not for us after all, and people who seem nice sometimes aren't."

Jared felt the blood drain from his face; he was going to pass out, he knew it, but he kept upright and told his brother he would say noting else but that. He almost asked Jesse what he'd heard, but Jesse spoke up again, again with a deep, from-the-toes sigh. "I failed you, Beans. I was supposed to keep an eye on you, but instead, I let you get so drunk, you passed out in the woods and almost broke your neck stumbling around in the dark trying to get back to me. How can you ever forgive me? How can I forgive myself?"

Jared stared at him, aghast. This was what was making his brother into this silent, miserable thing? This? Jared felt...well, at least this thing he felt was familiar. He felt like he wanted to punch Jesse in the face and keep punching until his knuckles gave out—and wanted to crawl into his lap and never ever let go, hide from the world in his brother's love. He shook his head and said, "Hey, don't. Please, Jesse. It's not your fault. Don't ever think for even a second that it's your fault."


	4. After the Runround, Jared woke every morning with a feeling that something wasn't right

After the Runround, Jared woke every morning with a feeling that something wasn't right. Besides the shame of being what he was, and the shame of keeping it secret, and the utter shame of having let someone do what Riley had done to him, he woke feeling like his body wasn't his. Or like he wasn't Jared anymore. That thing inside him, the thing that made him forsaken, took away what made him Jared.

The Jared he wanted to be was a nice guy—maybe a little strange sometimes, given to the occasional weird thought, but he was young and meant to be forgiven. His mama said just so all the time. He wanted to be the Jared who loved his family and wanted to be a teacher and someday get married, of course, and someday too have children, certainly. But this person he kept waking up to was scared, sick, and deformed in spirit. This person didn't know how to laugh, didn't recognize themselves in the mirror. This person did something that made a stranger want to hurt them. 

How, _why_ did this happen? Was it a punishment for what he now realized was him looking at boys the way he should be looking at girls? Or was it a punishment for leaving the guidance and safety of his brother's side to go into the dark with a stranger? To do wicked, awful things with a boy—man?

He'd said he liked Jared, and then he left like he didn't even know Jared. 

And those...those things he'd said to him...were they true? 

Jared was afraid to look at his mouth or to look at his face, afraid he'd see that there was something, maybe in his eyes, that said it was okay to do what Riley had done to him. Maybe all boys who got together were like that with each other, and Jared was just being a baby. Well, it didn't matter if it _was_ that way—never again as long as he lived was he doing something so vile. Ever.

Icy goosebumps rushed over his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut tight as possible, ground his knuckles into the lids like that'd keep him from seeing what was inside his head. Maybe...should he tell Jesse? Jared tried to imagine telling him, but all he could see was the look in Jesse's eyes if he told. What would his family do? The Lord's word called for shunning a person who committed a terrible sin. This was just that, a _terrible_ sin. 

Mama, Daddy, Mercy...Jesse. How would Jared's transgression affect their standing in the community? Mama and Daddy would be beyond furious that Jesse hadn't kept Jared from making a disgrace of himself and bringing shame on the family. 

What was he going to do?

What could he do?

=+=  
Morning came with brisk winds, fallen leaves rattling against the windows, and Jared on his knees in front of the toilet bowl. When he was finally sure it was all over, he stood and pulled the chain and listened to the water whisk away the evidence as he leaned, pale, tired, and shaky, against the bathroom wall. 

He was never going to eat bacon and sunny-side ups again. The very thought of egg yolk quivering yellow and loose, wibbling in the semi-gelid bowl of white, oozing and dripping into—

Jared dropped over the bowl again, and heaved bile into it. When he was fairly certain his gut had declared a truce with him, he shuffled over to the sink, his hands trembling so hard he could barely hold water. Sorry, Lord, but the only way he could describe this feeling was his stomach ached like the devil was dancing in it. He threw more cold water into his face, swished some around in his mouth. Took a tiny sip, and when nothing rose up to make war with him, he took a bigger one, and idly wondered if there were any pancakes left. 

_What in the world..._ How was he even contemplating eating anything when he'd just thrown up a lifetime's worth of food? He caught his eye in the mirror and the puzzled look on his own face made him break out into breathy giggles. He let them come, glad to take a break from the gray misery that blanketed him almost daily now. For a moment, he felt bright again, like he was Jared again. 

He could hear his Daddy call him, warning him he didn't have much time left to get ready for school. holerah, he'd have to take care of Merc first; there'd be no breakfast for him today. 

=+=  
The next few weeks were a cascading series of miserable moments, but Jared prayed through them all. 

It wasn't just his belly that tormented him now, the rest of his body had joined, especially the bits below his navel, to the point that prayer wasn't enough for unexpected, unwanted erections anymore. There were times when he found himself shaking and sweating under his sheets, and only the occasional snore from Jesse's side of the room kept him from being sinful. He was trying, he really was. The knowledge of his terrible sin was a weight he bore, a constant reminder of what a foul thing he was because of surrendering to that Outsider boy. Adding to the terrible load of sin he already carried, he found that other place between his legs made his nights a misery, too. Whenever his rod stiffened, it swelled, and got so hot, and wet; he could hardly stop from touching that as well. He'd already spent nights curled secretively on his side, with a finger inside himself and his rod trapped against the soft inner skin of his wrist, a corner of the pillow in his teeth, and tears just—everywhere. Sometimes he conquered himself, and sometimes he lost miserably. 

If only he could ask someone what to do about it all, but he was afraid to even hint that maybe, there was something about him that was different, and not just in how his mind liked to wander strange paths. What if he was irredeemably deviant? 

He began to test himself; of course he did, because it was an impossibility, this preferring boys to girls. It just couldn't be him. It _was_ not him. So he tested himself, staring at girls, well, _girl, anyway—_ he ended up staring at Clarice the most since she was his age and not a stranger to him. 

With each glance at her, he held his breath, waiting for a thrill, a tickle, a rise of any sort, until she'd started smiling bashfully back at him. Probably more out of self-defense than any real interest, Jared was willing to bet. Who in their right mind would want a walking scarecrow like him? What did he have to recommend him? Even when it was barber-cut, his hair looked odd. Like a startled wildcat had taken over his head. His arms and legs were spider-long and thin, his wrists and ankles looked like they belonged on a bigger, bulkier body...everything about him was too long and too narrow. He was a walking butter knife. Why would Clarice be interested in him at all?

=+=  
He happened to be sitting at the little picnic table outside one afternoon, waiting for his little charges to finish their recess. Chin resting on his hands, eyes not really focused on anything, he'd been staring into the distance as he thought about this morning's surreptitious vomiting, which, thank goodness, had passed rather quicker than usual. He was thinking about that, and about dinner, and about...nothing, really, when suddenly he realized Clarice had all along been sitting smack-dab in the direction he'd been staring. Apparently, he'd not noticed she had been staring back, red as a radish and smiling at him. 

Oh dear—and now she was coming _towards_ him. 

Jared dropped his hands and sat up straight, feeling a lot like a black cat caught in a snowdrift. With nowhere to hide, all he could do was smile tentatively at her when she sat down across from him.

"Jared, how are you this morning?"

"Oh. Um. Fine," he replied. "Oh—and you?"

"I'm fine as well." She looked down at her hands, the way they were sort of fidgeting together on the table top, and blushed a red that Jared was sure he matched. "Would you...would you care to come to the Saturday market with me? I understand if you're too busy, but I heard that your mother had baked goods she planned to sell and I thought if you were going to help out…"

Jared gulped. He hadn't thought to go at all, but this was what young people did, right, they went to market together, and held hands and walked around town and bought ice cream and oh gosh, was that him answering her? "Yes, that'd be good. I'm sure my mama wouldn't mind one bit."

=+=  
That Saturday, Jared found that his mama did more than not mind. To say his mama was thrilled to bits described her reaction to a T. He looked in Mama's steely gray eyes and saw right into her heart. He saw that she was already imagining marrying him off to this girl and into a world where she'd have a daughter-in-law, and probably a troop of grandchildren, and Jared would no longer be her problem. He had no way to tell her he barely thought of Clarice as a person let alone a wife, and this date was a stab in the dark. 

Mama looked him up and down and sighed in a pleased way, and just like that the cobwebs blew off his brain; he saw, as clear as day, what the future held for him. 

This was going to be his life. Marry Clarice—or someone just like her—and work at something he didn't want to, to provide for a family he'd never more than idly imagined having, get children he'd never wanted, be with someone in some nebulous way he'd never given a single thought to until death set him free. It was that, or his only other choice, which resign himself to life as an old bachelor, like Mr. Mazel, living alone since his friend and foreman died. It had always been just Mazel and the other old man, and now, it was just Mazel. A dried up, raisin of a man, never smiling since his foreman died, living aloof and alone.

Jared blinked. Something poked him around the edges of his brain, but then Mama was calling to him to hurry and the thought evaporated. He needed to dress and brush his hair, and— 

_"Dear Lord, please help the boy control the haystack squatting on his head!"_

That supposed witticism came from Jesse, who was never, ever as funny as he thought he was. But when Jared came back downstairs, dressed and as put together as he was capable of, Jesse stopped him and smiled sweetly at him, squeezing his shoulder. He looked proud that Jared was going on this date. Thing. With Clarice. What could Jared do, but smile back and bite the inside of his cheek as his guts rolled. 

That was the start of a series of lackluster dates with Clarice. Jared pitied the girl because she actually seemed pleased by their time together, sort of aimlessly wandering about town—just to be seen. There was church with their families and them sitting chastely side by side on the pew, after church there was ice cream, and then there was lunch with her family. Church again, a little walk again, and then home. After school now, he waited for Mercy _and_ Clarice. 

The library became a distant memory because Clarice didn't read for fun, and Jared fell into the habit of doing whatever it was Clarice wanted since it was just easier for her to decide what they should do. And before he knew it, it was November, and he had a possible fiancée and the heavy hint of a spring wedding. 

=+=  
He went through his morning routine, which sometimes still included a bit of vomiting, but he took it in stride—it no longer worried him, not when it'd become such a part of his life. He brushed his teeth, the mint clearing out the bitter taste in his mouth because this morning happened to be one of those days his stomach rebelled, and rinsed. He stared at himself in the mirror, wondering who was that pale, scraped-thin boy with circles under his eyes and a green tinge to his skin? Who, despite throwing up again and again, was getting a bit of pudge about his middle? Well, that probably wasn't much of a mystery—he craved the most outlandish things, and when no one was paying attention, ate his way through bunches of apples and peaches and for some reason, pickled peppers, which were especially good. He hoped Mama didn't notice how much of her canned food was missing. 

Day after day, he dragged himself through school, until one day Miss Bartnik took him to the side and told him, "Tell your mother to take you to the nurse, Jared, or maybe even Outside to the doctor. I'm worried."

But Clarice never seemed to notice anything was off, and no one in his family did, so Jared nodded and promptly forgot about it.

=+=  
November went past quietly. Jared spent most of it feeling oddly exhausted. Everything made him tired: chasing after the little shin-gnawers, mediating hysterical fits, gentling the children into quiet-times and lunch, and supervising their playtime. He was certain he'd even fallen asleep a time or two on his feet in front of the felt board. He'd also managed to dredge up within himself enormous, really _enormous_ amounts of patience, because it seemed more than ever the little scholars were working together to send him right around the bend. There were days he had to stop himself from throttling someone's little pride and joy. He hated being like that. He liked teaching, he liked the kids. But daily, the unalloyed joy of returning them to their mothers grew. The small beans weren't ignorant of his darkening mood—they were beginning to eye him as if he were a grumpy bull. He tried to make up for it by bringing them occasional treats and spending a little extra time at story circle, or recess. And he prayed. A lot. 

Every day, he exhaled, feeling free as a bird when the last of them trundled off towards home, then practically collapsed at his desk, feeling drained. And then, like clockwork, barely a moment passed before he was on his feet again, heading towards the bathrooms for what felt like the hundredth time that day. 

And then in the blink of an eye, it was December. 

=+=  
Jared sat in his private spot, looking out over the valley and hills. He sipped at a steaming mug clutched between hands warm in somewhat lumpy, but colorful, mittens—another gift of his sister, bless her industrious little heart. They fit really well, though, she was definitely improving. He sighed, and took another sip of of heavily honeyed tea. Lately, caffee had been giving him a severe case of the trots—his beloved brew having finally revealed its evil heart. 

He blew over the rim of the mug, and watched steam rise up and disappear. All around him, the land and sky looked like a gray and black charcoal sketch, thin black skeletons of trees and shrubs scratching at the steel gray sky. He shimmied down into his coat, smiling when his baggy hat slowly slipped down to its resting place on the bridge of his nose. 

So far, it'd been an unusually dry, cold December—the world felt brittle. Snow seemed to be passing them over; only the highest points were dusted with white. Not that the families were mourning its absence. The lack of snow allowed more time to get in shape for the coming new year and most folks were doing what Daddy and Jesse were doing—patching roofs, machines, fixing items there'd been no time to fix in the busier parts of the year, storing up food for the animals and the family. 

The little ones, though, were fit to be tied—they'd been anxiously awaiting snow, ready for sledding and snowmen and skiing. Jared normally would have been quite impatient for snow himself, his skis waxed and ready to ready to swoosh his way into town. There was sometime magical about being on one's own, the wind slipping past his face and the only sound the slice of his skis through the snow. He saw the land in a whole new way on skis; sometimes saw deer breaking through the crust of snow on shrubs and trees, once he'd even seen a fox dash past him, in futile chase of a crafty little rabbit. He liked the way the town took on a bright new look when the snow came down. 

He smiled, and took a gulp of tea, and took off a mitten to nibble on the slices of dried apple he'd become really fond of. They were especially good with a little dried beef wrapped around them, he'd found. The wind rattled the bare branches around him and reminded him it was time to return to the yard and help finish the preparations for Christmas eve. 

He stood, and brushed off his knees, slipped his mitten back on and gathered his mug and flask. This was going to be a different Christmas than ones he'd had before, since he was more or less courting and all. He wasn't sure if that meant better or not. He'd thought at first, that this year he'd have someone to share his small joys with, but it turned out Clarice was not exactly excited by the things that made winter special for him. She didn't like the cold, and preferred the gas heater over the fireplace because it didn't make a mess. She didn't ski. She didn't ice-skate—she said she wasn't very steady on her feet. She didn't make snowmen, that was for children. She didn't make snow-ice cream because she thought it couldn't possibly be a healthy thing to eat. She was, she was—

"Oh my Lord in heaven, she is _boring!"_ he found himself moaning into his mittened hands.

She was the most boring person Jared had ever met. She found the most banal things amusing, and on top of that, she didn't like to read. 

_She didn't like to read!_

Jared smacked himself in the head. What had he been thinking, to let this travesty of courtship continue? He had to get out of this before his mama and hers started to seriously plan the wedding. It did make him stop in his tracks, imagining what might happen when he let them know that, no, Clarice and he were not going to be married. 

Well, Clarice was going to hate him, that was a given. Not to mention her mother, and oh, my Lord, her _father,_ who was already talking about the cost of expanding their house, adding on a bedroom or two. Jared shuddered, shaking with horror at the thought. He saw no way out, though. He'd just have to take everyone's censure and pray long and hard that he'd make it through until school was over and then...maybe he should give some real thought to what Jesse had said, back—back in the fall.

Another town, a new life, people who had no idea who he was or who he was supposed to be….

He gathered up the bunches of dried wheat he'd collected before having his tea. Collecting them had made a great excuse to get away for a bit. Mercy and Mama were getting ready to make a few fresh ornaments for the tree—a tree they'd go out to hunt down tomorrow morning, and have decorated by evening. Jesse and he had done some fishing yesterday—not Jared's favorite time of year to go fishing, but Christmas Eve dinner always called for some nice fresh fish. 

He was hungry, ravenous, even, and worried about the fasting come tomorrow and sitting in church with an empty belly. Fasting had never been fun, but this year, he was afraid it was going to be murderous. These days his stomach had taken to rumbling and growling if his meals were so much as a minute late, and of course everyone remarked on it. It was darn embarrassing. A few times he'd even staggered from feeling faint—like he was about to float away. He'd felt hunger before, but it had never been like this. He fumbled another slice of apple out of his pocket and nibbled on it thoughtfully. Church at least was relaxing, thank goodness, hopefully it would help distract him before Christmas eve feast, that and thinking about how after they'd give each other their gifts, and play games, and...he felt himself smiling at the memories of his many Christmases, and looked forward to what tomorrow would bring.

=+=  
The comforting scent of fresh pine boughs and cinnamon, along with a hint of citrus, filled the church. Wet wool, leather, cherry-smoke of the pipes most men smoked...all the familiar smells of Christmas brightened his spirit. 

They were surrounded by light—rows after rows of candles lit the church, the electric having been shut off, and the golden glow transformed the rather plain space into a mystical place, where anything could happen; where miracles could take place. He felt the touch of the Lord on his heart, heard angels in the voices of the children and their parents, singing the old, old carols. 

Clarice sat at his side, her fingers creeping into his hand, quietly begging him to hold her hand. He did. He didn't enjoy it—actually it didn't move him one way or another, but he knew Clarice liked it, and her parents were right there and all he wanted was peace, for as long as he could have it. 

After the service, with promises by both the boys to meet up with their dates later, they returned home. 

The tree was set up in the living room, right between the windows, and it was perfect. Of course it was. Jesse and Daddy searched for the nicest little tree, a fat little thing with lovely, curling branches. They'd nailed the cross pieces to the bottom while Mercy and he had held it in place, and then they'd lifted it onto its stand quick as a wink. Mama wrapped the red blanket, gone thin with age, around the bottom of it. She stepped back and eyed it critically. 

"Well, it seems about right. You three go ahead and hang the cookie ornaments. I made twenty gingerbreads, and I better see twenty on that tree. There'll be plenty of time to eat them later, _Jared._

"Once! Once I ate an ornament before dinner and I was _five!"_

"What's that?" Mercy made a big production of asking. "Fifteen, was it? I mean, it couldn't have been _five,_ because _I_ remember Mamma boxing your ears for breaking fast before—" 

"Mama! Tell her not to tell stories!"

"Mercy, leave your brother be. We are all pretending that he doesn't bake a few extra cookies to replace the ones that 'break'," she said, with a little wry smile. 

Jesse handed Jared all the wheat-stalk stars, trimmed with red thread. "Here. You can hang these safely, I'd say." 

Jared made a face at him, and carefully hung the wheat stars, though he had to admit it was close when it came to the little fabric bags filled with cinnamon sticks, cloves, and dried rose petals. They smelled awfully good, and he was about a step away from fainting from hunger. 

The final ornament went on—a star that Daddy said his great-grandmother brought with her from the old world topped the tree, and finally, it was dinnertime.

They stood around the old farm table, looking regal in its silver and red Christmas finery. They linked hands and Daddy began to speak. 

"Lord, we come together to celebrate this Christmas day—"

It was a relatively short prayer and Jared felt equally grateful for that, and guilty that he was grateful. Mama lifted the lids on the dishes, and then, all he was hungry. He did manage a short prayer of his own, guilt moving him to be apologetic. 

They ate well—the several courses setting this meal apart from the normal, day-to-day meals. There was fish in a cream sauce, there was fried fish fillets. There were slices of ham with red berry sauce. There were potatoes and carrots, and pickled green beans. Mamma made her famous rolls, and there was butter and cheese for them. 

When everyone had eaten and they'd cleared away the food and washed the dishes, Mama made cocoa, and passed out thick slices of gingerbread. They gathered around the tree, and as Daddy lit the candles, they sang the song they'd all sung every Christmas Jared could remember, _"Today in Bethlehem—"_ in the Old Language.

As soon as the candles were all lit and the song came to an end, they passed theirs gifts around to be opened. Jared, Mercy and Jesse had worked together to make a new sewing box for Mama, and a pipe holder and tobacco pouch for Daddy. They followed the principals set down by the Lord and taught by the Elders—combine the gifts that the Lord gave you in ways to increase the happiness and prosperity of each family. So they'd combined their gifts to make what they hoped were good gifts for their parents, and in that way, gifted each other as well. They shared smiles with each other as their parents expressed surprise and what looked like genuine happiness as they opened their gifts. 

Jesse had the knack of wood-working: The frame for Mama's kit and Daddy's pipe holder came from his efforts. Jared had an eye for design—he'd sketched out how each gift should go, and had padded the box for the sewing kit, and stained the holder for Daddy's pipes. Mercy was so good at sewing, and she'd pieced together and sewed the cover for the kit, and made the pouch to hold Daddy's tobacco. Jared was proud of what they'd done. This year, they'd definitely worked out the perfect gifts for their parents. 

Jared leaned against the chair his mama sat in and stroked the soft, red, woolen scarf he'd gotten. It was wonderfully warm and so long, it made him giggle. He loved that Mama let a bit of her carefully parceled-out sense of humor into the knitting of his gift. He really could wrap the scarf two or three times around his neck and still have scarf left over to wrap. He loved it. 

Things were going so well for him that he wondered how he'd be able to stand much more joy—then remembered that he was expected to call on Clarice this Christmas eve. He had a gift—Mercy insisted, and he headed for the stairs to fetch it, when suddenly the room tipped slightly forwards, and then backwards, and the next thing he knew, he was blinking at the ceiling, stars whirling in circles around his head, and candles flickering into light and out again in his eyes. 

After a moment, he realized that he was laying on his back on the floor, that his head hurt, and his stomach, and he was just too weak to move. 

"Oh my dear Lord—Jared! What did you do?"

He thought that was an unfair question because he didn't do anything. It wasn't his fault that for a few seconds the world ceased to exist, and he was about to tell Mama so, but he only managed a weak croak and an uncoordinated flailing of his arms. 

"Padalecki, you and Jesse take Jared upstairs right now and put him to bed. Jared, I'll be up right away with some tea and a hot water—now, now. None of that, son. This puts no damper on our Christmas, in fact, this gives us more time to pray and be in fellowship." 

Her words would have soothed him more if he couldn't see Jesse and Mercy behind her shoulder, the one looking like he wanted to throttle him and the other pouting at him because that meant further sweets were delayed. It almost made him laugh, but then Daddy and Jesse hefted him up to carry him upstairs and he almost saw his Christmas dinner again. He whimpered, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," all the long, slow, painful way up the stairs, but truth to tell he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for at all. 

=+=

He lay in bed the whole of Christmas day, too weak to eat, too weak to do much more than to shuffle to the bathroom and back to bed—he'd eat his own legs before he'd let anyone help him in the bathroom. He couldn't keep food down, barely kept any water back, and on the third day of this, his mama put her foot down and demanded that Jared be allowed to the doctor's in the Outside town.

Daddy refused to waste funds and working hours running out to the town when he was certain Jared had just eaten something that didn't agree with him, or maybe had a cold starting up, but finally, he gave permission. 

Mama went to the post office to call the doctor's office, and was soon back under full steam, approaching the idea of going to town like Deborah about to lead her armies against the Canaanites. 

"He offered to come here, but I told him we'd meet in town. He'll certainly have equipment and tools in his office that aren't available here. And, we don't want to give them any reason to poke around where they're not wanted or needed," she huffed. 

Jared felt a slight spike of excitement—the town! But his roiling stomach and his pounding head soon dampened that enthusiasm. He was a little uncertain about riding the bus feeling like this—he had a vivid memory of how uncomfortable it was. Somehow, the thought of boarding the bus made him break out in cold sweats. His hands were trembling, and he didn't know why. The bus had been smelly, but not frightening. To his surprise, he was actually afraid of getting on some silly bus. 

Jared tried to argue against going because as he swore he felt better, and trotted up and down the stairs twice just to show Mama how much better he felt. It was a losing argument since on his last turn down, he threw up twice and fell over on the bottom step.

Daddy gave Mama money for the bus, and Jesse walked with them to the bus stop to see them off—and make sure Jared didn't fall over.  
He and his long red scarf were on the way to the city whether he liked it or not. He was certainly undecided.  
=+=


	5. "Jared breathed as unobtrusively as he could, and sat very, very still—a childish hope that if he was quiet enough, they'd forget he was in the room. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two; Leaving the town

=+=

_"Doctor, This boy is not in the CDB. He's never been tested. And with the symptoms he's complaining about...well." She made a face, and the doctor ignored it to look at the minicomp she held out to him._

_"Really? Well, it might have been illness that kept him from it, it's not completely unusual...or some religious objection, it happens now and again. Not a good thing, because those boys just fall through the cracks," he mused aloud, mostly to himself. "I'll talk to his…" he tabbed through the pages, poking notes with the dynapen "...his mother, about getting him tested; if there's any kind of problem, she can order his record closed to the public by the new law."_

_"They look like those Lord's Family people. What a pack of uneducated, backwoods dunces." The nurse rolled her eyes, oblivious to the doctor's look of distaste. "And carriers, all those supposed...men. They should have all been tested and neutered at the beginning, when it was clear that men having babies was a pure failure. That would have taken care of that problem. Smart days, when they weren’t allowed to run the streets infecting people.″_

_"Oh for god's sake, Jane, it’s not infection—you know better than that. As for causing problems it’s so rare that they’re fertile that it never could have become a "problem". Or for them to survive a pregnancy or birth on the rare occasion they are. The law making them wards of the state to keep them out of the general population was a waste of time and a tragedy. I—you know what? Just, please tell Mrs. Padalecki and her son that I’ll meet them in my office.″_

_Doctor looked on as the nurse stalked away and made a mental note to talk to the other doctors in the practice. He didn’t want anyone like that interacting with any of his patients—no one needed that kind of attitude towards differences of any kind. Being gay, but not out in general, he had a real soft spot for the poor carriers out in the world alone. Maybe it had been a hundred years since the abolishment of anti-gay laws, but the country was still working though old hatreds and misconceptions. Add the possibility that some gay men—or men at all—could be carriers, and it was too much for most people, who worried that they'd eventually be taken over by—by—some sort of woman-hating mafia. The doctor shook his head._

_It was a ridiculous fear, not to mention an impossible one. For any carrier lucky enough to make it to adulthood, world domination was hardly on their agenda. And they certainly couldn’t impregnate themselves, no matter what stupid urban legends said. He sighed, and gathered a few informative pamphlets about carriers and slid them under his minicomp pad. Just in case. If they were Lord's Family people, he hoped for the kid’s sake he really did just have a stomach virus. It was really the most likely scenario._

=+=

'Mrs. Padalecki, has Jared been tested for the carrier trait? I know that most Family doesn't test, but I wondered since your group is so close to the city and is more open to other ideas—"

Jared breathed as unobtrusively as he could, and sat very, very still—a childish hope that if he was quiet enough, they'd forget he was in the room. He sat like a statue, just his eyes moving, taking in the little tiled room—jars of swabs and gauze and balls of cotton and a tiny metal suitcase sat on a long shelf next to an oddly shaped table that kept drawing his eye, in the same way an out-sized spider would. He and Mama were perched on uncomfortable plastic chairs, crammed in close together to make room for the doctor to sit on his little rolling stool. 

Mama was looking about too, her expression speaking volumes about how she felt to be in this doctor's office, in the town at all. The set of her shoulders gave the feeling that any minute now she'd take flight, clawing through the doctor and straight out the window to freedom. Jared had never seen his mama look so unsettled, so off-kilter, and it frightened him. 

The doctor was big—a heavy-set man who'd look comfortable among the farmers in Mountain Grove with his thick, blocky, build. He was bald, but had a full beard. Jared always imagined men grew beards to make up for hair loss. Kind eyes, though, brown, like a doe's….

He heard the doctor speak his mama's name, the edge of sharpness in his tone snapping Jared's wandering mind back to full attention. "Mrs. Padalecki?"

"I heard you. And of course there's been no _testing."_ Mama replied in a scathing tone. "There's no need. Even if by some unlikely happening he was a—a— _carrier_ —Family has no unnatural desires, so, no need.

"It's not just because of the possibility of a pregnancy." The doctor tried his best to look sympathetic, warm, but Jared was picking up that undertone of...frustration? Irritation? "There are other factors that make it good practice to be tested at birth: carriers are prone to weak bones, kidney and liver disorders, high blood pressure—to name just a few health problems, and if the carrier menstruates, it can be extremely painful and debilitating, leading to—"

"Ridiculous! The boy's always been healthy as a horse, and I'll thank you not to talk that way in front of my son!"

The doctor cut his eyes over to Jared and then quietly, politely asked Mama to leave the room for a few minutes, so that he could speak with her son. 

"You see, Mrs. Padalecki, the law allows you freedom of religious belief, which is why you didn't have to get Jared tested. However, it does not allow for you to invade his privacy, here, now, in my office. If he chooses to, he can talk to me alone. Jared?"

Jared kept his eyes on the floor, afraid to meet Mama's steely gaze, but he nodded his head. Yes. He had to know what was wrong with him and if it could be fixed, and he didn't want his mama murdering the doctor—and him—in case there really was something horribly wrong with him. 

Once Mama had gone, they sat quietly for a moment, not saying a word. Finally, the doctor cleared his throat. "Jared, this is not my first time treating a patient from the Family communities. And, just guessing here, but am I right in assuming, since you wanted to speak to me alone...you're a carrier?" 

_"No!_ I'm not, gosh, that's not my question." Jared shrugged, then horrified himself by sobbing. He choked out, "I mean, there's something's wrong, I know that. I just don't know what it is...besides, how can you tell these things? I don't know, I have no one to ask, and I don't—I don't know." He ended on a whisper as he sunk lower in his chair, wishing he could hide somewhere dark, somewhere not in the bright white and green room.

"Have you ever talked to anyone about sex, or anything along that line?"

Jared shook his head. 

"Well...how about we start with an examination; it will be quick, and fairly painless. Nothing too uncomfortable, I promise."

Jared's head jerked when he heard 'fairly', and he looked at the doctor in panic. Had he sent Mama away too quickly?

"I just need to—to look you over, by that I mean, take your weight and height, your blood pressure, and maybe take a very small amount of blood for tests. I promise, tiny needle, not worse than a pinch. The exam might make you uncomfortable if you've never had one before. No?" he said at Jared's quick head shake. "Okay, so, let me explain how this works. You sit here on the table—"

Jared felt faint. He knew the doctor would take one look at his sinful body and _know_ what Jared had done. What would the man do when he discovered that Jared was a deviant? Would he be...would he be arrested? What did Outsiders do when they discovered that boys were perverted? 

The doctor prodded and poked Jared from ears to chest—when his fingers pressed into his belly and around his belly-button, there was a strange uncomfortable feeling there. The doctor said something Jared couldn't catch. He felt some more, and then stepped back. "I'd like to call the nurse back in, Jared. And whenever you have a full exam in a doctor's office, there should be a nurse."

Jared swallowed, he nodded and whispered, "Okay."

"Pamela, could you please come in?" the doctor said, speaking into a small metal box hanging on the wall. 

A few seconds later a harried looking woman stepped in, tucking black hair back into a bun. Her lips were red, and her eyes were outlined in blue, Jared tried not to stare but she was really very...tall. And pretty, but in a way that reminded him of his mama. "I thought Jane was with you—oh. Got it," she said when she caught sight of Jared, hunched down as tiny as he could make himself on the table.

"Hello." She smiled, and it was as lovely a smile as that beautiful Outsider boy's. Jared fear eased somewhat—the nurse had the same kindness in her smile.

The doctor asked softly, "Can you lay back on the table, Jared? We'll need you to be fully undressed. It's really best if we look and see if everything is okay." 

Jared tried to concentrate on anything except he fact he was lying naked on a table, horribly exposed to strangers. He tried to rein in his galloping breath, calm the erratic beat of his heart. The nurse murmured something meant to be soothing, he guessed, and he worked at not whimpering out loud. 

"Thank you, nurse," the doctor said, and pulled on the gloves she handed him. "Now, when was the last time you had sex?"

Jared blinked. The ceiling swam into view—it was very white. The table was very hard, and his legs and face were very cold. The nurse's hand was warm on his forehead; comforting. He felt like he was coming back from far, far away. 

"Okay now? You back with us? You're okay, Jared, it was just...stress, panic. Your body decided it needed a little break. But you're okay now, and it'd be best for you if we get all questions out of the way. I'm going to look at you now, Jared. If you like, the nurse can hold your hand while I do..."

"Oh. Please." 

The nurse nodded, and stepped closer to the head of the table, held her hand out and let Jared clamp down, not even wincing even though Jared knew his grip was a shade too tight.

The doctor went on to explain what he'd do, as he helped Jared into position, and assured him over and over he'd seen a lot of people this way, and it was okay. That he shouldn't be embarrassed because this was his job. He'd be gentle and discrete. 

The exam was as horrible as Jared expected.

The doctor took a strange, thin, tube-thing from the shelf near the table and said, "This is a probe—a tiny camera that will show me pictures as we go along. You might feel a pinch. Tell me if it hurts more than that and I'll stop immediately."

Jared just nodded, stunned into a detached, floating feeling—definitely not a good kind of feeling. The doctor seemed not to notice, he bent forward between Jared's lifted legs, Jared's view of him blocked by a sheet the nurse had settled over his knees. He felt the pinch, and then an odd sensation of something cold going into him, in that place, behind his sac. he felt another pinch and something inside him...jerked. "What—what's that, what was that?" he gasped.

"What you felt," the doctor said, "was me inserting the probe—the little camera—into your channel, which seems to be well-developed."

"I don't understand, whu—what does that mean?" Well-developed...what? 

He heard the nurse whisper, "Oh dear," as she tightened her grip. 

For the first time since he and his mama stepped foot in the man's office, the doctor seemed flustered. He started to speak a time or two before finally sighing gently. "Well, you've felt that small opening right behind your scrotal sac, correct?"

Jared whispered yes, feeling his whole body light up in a burning flush of shame. He prayed the man wouldn't ask him how he felt it, and why. 

The doctor stood, and removed his gloves. Washed his hands—Jared got the distinct feeling he was stalling for time. "Jared, you know about the birds and bees, right?

"Yes. Of course. We live on a farm. We have foaling season, we know what a bull and a cow do. If you're asking me if I know about sex, yes." He blushed despite his strong words. 

"Well, that's good. You know about males and females then, and what do you know about carriers?"

"You mean, like mothers?" He blushed again. He remembered his Mama carrying Mercy, and when the nurse came to the house and sent the men out, it wasn't a mystery what was going on. 

"I mean...boys like you who are carriers." The doctor waited for Jared to respond, and when Jared sat there, stunned into silence and disbelief, he went on. 

"You see, that opening you felt gives into a birth canal. Carriers may or may not develop an actual canal, they might develop a canal, but not an opening to it—there's a variety of ways a carrier can present and it looks like you're a perfect carrier, Jared." He tried to smile, but Jared let himself fall into the floaty, no-feeling place. 

He was doubly cursed. His life was over. 

The nurse smoothed Jared's hair back from his brow, and pressed a wad of tissues into his hand. He hadn't even realized he'd been crying. She helped Jared sit up again, and squeezed his shoulder gently. "Doctor," she said, "If you don't need me?" 

The doctor dismissed the nurse, who smiled kindly at Jared before leaving the room. Jared felt warm tears running steadily down his cheeks. Her little bit of kindness had pushed him over into fulll-blown tears.

"Jared...I promise you, no matter what you've been told, being a carrier is a gift, it really is."

"I'm _not_ a carrier, and being some kind of abomination is _not_ a gift. It's a curse!" A gift. How in the world could it be a gift? What a stupid thing to say. It wasn't true. People like that were, they were monsters. They were evil, and repellent to the Lord. They were worse than deviant. That's _not_ what he was. 

The doctor took Jared's hand, and squeezed it gently. "Okay...well, it's a scary thing to find out if all you've ever been told was that it's a very bad thing. First, let me assure you, you can't get yourself pregnant, okay? I still hear that from people, and it's just not a possibility. But, if you've been with another boy, there's a possibility—"

Jared bent over himself, cramming a corner of the exam table sheet into his mouth to muffle the sound of his hysterical crying. 

"Oh, oh, Jared, no—" the doctor quickly wrapped an arm around Jared, holding him tightly. "Are you? Have you?" He sighed, and folding Jared in both arms, he held him like he was holding one of his own children. "Jared. Have you been with a boy?"

Jared managed to lift his head to peer up at the doctor, who looked like he wanted to die. "Jared," he said, "I'm making an awful mess of this, and your mother…" the doctor shook his head. Jared knew the man was doing his best to be kind and thoughtful, but it was all just so overwhelming. 

He'd came here to the city to find out if he was dying from some wasting disease, and now was learning he was a more terrible abomination than he'd thought.

"I'm sorry, Jared, but having had sex and from your description of how you've been feeling lately, well, there's a possibility you could be pregnant. We'll do some blood work, just to be certain; we'll know for sure by the end of the week. I'm so sorry, too, that considering your age, I will have to tell your mother what we suspect."

He gave Jared some pamphlets, and then said, "I know you're going to throw these away as soon as you can. I understand. But take this card, hide it, and please use it if you need to, Jared. Again, I'm sorry. I'll have your mother come in, and I'll explain as best I can to her..."

He opened the door to the exam room, and Jared's ears were roaring so he hardly heard the doctor call for the nurse, asking her to send Mrs. Padalecki back in. His head dropped back to the table, he closed his eyes and then felt nothing for what felt like a long time. When he opened his eyes again, his mother was shaking his shoulder. "Get up. Get up right now. Dress yourself."

The doctor was nowhere to be seen. 

=+=  
Mama said not a word the whole ride back. She was silent, stiff as a spire of stone, her eyes locked on the road ahead so fiercely Jared wondered if she actually saw a thing. Her hands were folded together so tightly her knuckles were white; Jared knew without being told not to try to take her hand. Being rejected would shatter him like glass. So he sat motionless as well, and let the roar of the bus wash over him until it set his head to pounding. The rapid-fire speech of the Outsiders beat against his ears so that he was deaf, and the sun burned through the windshield and set his eyes to watering. Tears of pain, that's all they were. 

He didn't deserve anything else. 

The walk from the bus stop back to their yard was a nightmare. Each footstep was one step closer to the end of his life as it had been. Each crunch of the cinders under his feet as they walked closer to home underscored his new life. 

_Freak—monster—freak—monster—freak—monster_ He was all the bad things rolled into one: a catamite and an abomination. He was too afraid to wonder what happened next.

He looked over their land, at the house he'd been born in, the orchard, the coops and pens, the barn. The fields of beans and peppers and corn, the little pond he and Mercy still played in from time to time...and tried to imagine living off to the side of all that; an imposition, a stranger, an outcast, a ghost. Infected with monstrous desires, infected with a parasite. 

At least he wouldn't have to marry Clarice, he thought, and before he could smother it, a weak, shaky laugh tumbled out. 

His mother whipped towards him, her eyes blazing and her mouth a twisted slash of anger. "You dare?" she nearly shouted, and raised her hand—dropping it quickly. "Get in the house, and go to your room."

Jared ran into the house and dashed up the stairs to the attic. 

_She had been about to hit him. His mama had raised her hand to strike him…._

He threw himself on his bed, curled up and hoping against hope that Jesse wouldn't be heading in soon. He was visiting his soon-to-be fiancée—Jared jerked upright with a gasp, and bit at his lip. What if...what if he'd ruined everything for Jesse too? What if his fiancée's family decided not to have anything to do with his family, blamed the Padalecki family for the youngest son's failings? 

Or...oh no. What if Jesse blamed _himself_ for what was happening?

All his frantic, horrified musing couldn't begin to be as horrific as what actually happened to him that night. 

=+=  
"Jared!" His daddy's voice rang out, calling him to dinner in a way that left no wiggle room; Jared figured it be a lecture or—or worse, if he claimed to be ill, or too tired to come down. He stepped slowly down the stairs, quietly setting his foot on each tread like it would be his last step in life. 

He nearly tip-toed into a dead silent kitchen, and came to a wobbly stop when he saw his family.

The electricity shone bright light from the overhead bulb over the table top. Food was already on the table; the plates and glasses set out. A milk crock stood next to the roasting pan, little beads of water rolling down the swell of its sides. There was a basket of Mama's special rolls, crunchy outsides and insides light and fluffy as clouds. They sat next to the butter crock, a silver spoon standing in it, ready to slather the rolls in sweet, golden goodness. It was good food; food he always believed that only his mama could make. 

Jared stood in the doorway, looking at his family at dinner, the way they'd been for as long as he could remember, before his eyes starting picking out odd little things. There were only four plates and glasses on the table. There was a plate on the stove, already filled, barely, with food. A glass of water stood nearby. 

Jesse and Mercy and Mama had their chairs all on one side of the table, their eyes firmly locked on the table top. There was an unoccupied space at the head of the table—Daddy's—and a place on the empty, opposite side. One chair. 

Jesse was red-faced, and appeared to be furious, Mercy was pale, her face streaked with tears and her lip caught between her teeth, something Jared and his sister both did under times of stress. And Mama….Mama looked regal, and majestic, and cold as a glacier. 

There was a small sound, and Jared turned towards it, catching his daddy's eyes. Daddy looked at him like he was—was—something dredged up out of an outhouse pit. He opened his mouth once or twice, before finally breaking the silence. 

"This—this – we will not have words here in this house. The Elders see you. It's they who'll decide what to do with you. Until they do, you are not a person in this house—your name's not to be spoken here again, in the will of the Lord. You'll keep to yourself. We will not tolerate you infecting your sister, your brother, with this intolerable wickedness. This disgusting perversion. You go against the will of the Lord, and there are consequences for that, man."

Jared kept silent, though tears streamed down his face so fast and furious he felt like he was drowning in them. He let them come; he was afraid to move to wipe his face. 

Jesse looked up, his mouth twisted, the look in his eyes stabbing right through Jared. He turned towards Daddy. "Where do you want me to sleep?" he asked.

"Well, in your room, of course," Daddy said, and turning back to Jared, said, "You will sleep in the horse stall, where the foal was."

"Was?" Jared asked. "Where's Mercury—"

"Dudek will take the horse. There's no one here to take care of it. Horses go to sons. You go on, take the plate my wife made up for you, and sit in the chair set aside for you."

Jared sat still, eyes pinned to his hands, and nothing in the world could have prepared him for how it actually felt to be cast out. He was at the kitchen table he'd eaten his meals at all his life, and now he didn't belong. But Family was merciful, as per the word of the Lord, and he would still have a seat, still have a place to sleep. He'd still be fed, and still be sheltered—until the Elders decided how his fate would go. Whether he was to be shunned for life, or shunned for eternity, which meant sentenced to having no place, no name, no life.

That night, he lay in the empty stall where Merc had been. Gone now, sold away to Dudek. Jared was grateful that at least he knew where Mercury was. That his foal would be safe and well cared for, because Dudek he knew was a good man. His breath shuddered in and out, shaking his chest as he breathed. He hoped someone in the Dudek family would love Mercury the same way he had. Jared drew the back of his hand across his face, and tried to sleep, curling up into the straw. He had a basket in the stall next to him—clothing folded neatly, shoes under them. There was a blanket, and his toothbrush, and toothpowder. His comb, a jacket, crammed into that basket. Everything but his sketchpad, the pencils, he'd bought for himself. His books, Robinson Crusoe, The Story of King Arthur and His Knights were missing—they'd only left him the basics. He wondered sadly what happened to his things. He thought how sad, how miserable, how pitiful. He took a deep, deep breath, let it out. 

Holerah and—and— _damn it._

He rolled over and punched himself violently in the stomach, smashing his fist into his gut over and over, tears streaming down his face. The corner of his blanket shoved into his mouth let him scream without being heard, and he screamed and screamed into the rough fabric. He hated that boy. Riley. Riley, Riley, damned Riley, who most likely had cursed him to the grave and beyond. And what if he survived this parasite inside him? What if _it_ survived? What was he going to do? If he wasn't shunned for eternity, what would he do with the walking, breathing, moving sign of his sin?

Jared leaped up from the straw, throwing himself backwards into the stable wall, hitting the wall so hard, stars exploded in his head. "Why?" he cried out. "Why, why, why is this happening to me?"

=+=

It wasn't as cold in the barn as he'd expected it to be. Still, there was a heavy kind of coldness seeping into his heart, his blood, every day that he woke up in that stable. Coldness crept in and notched a bit of him away, day by day, as he lay waiting for the word of the Elders to smash his world to pieces.

Weak sunlight filtered through the vent at the other end of the loft. He was curled up under one of the worn blankets he'd found under some boxes of junk; felt sort of idly sad that he hadn't died during the night. But no, it was morning, and if he made tracks, he'd be able to avoid running into anyone of the family. He scurried down the ladder—he'd stopped sleeping in Merc's stall when his brother had ignored him too many times. The one time Jared hadn't been able to stand it anymore and reached out to touch him, he'd made a noise of such disgust that Jared had found himself up in the rafters before he'd known it, throwing up into a bucket. 

On the ground floor again, he peeked around, just to make doubly sure no one was there. While the family seemed to very easily ignore him, it was killing Jared to be ignored. To have to walk softly, and meet no one's eye, and avoid touching them. 

Just like he'd hoped, there was a bowl of oatmeal under the workbench he usually found his food place. It was congealed from the cold, and this was the thing that saddened him most—not a lick of honey or a dusting of sugar on it at all. But, it was filling at least—the bowl was full. He took it back up to the loft with him. He could have eaten in the kitchen, he knew there was always an empty chair set aside for him, but he stopped going to meals. It was too painful.

When he'd first stopped going to meals, there'd been a couple of days that he hadn't eaten anything, but it wasn't too long before he woke up to a smell that had dragged him out of his nest of self-pity. He'd found a small pot of soup under a workbench. To this day he still had no idea who brought the food for him, but it appeared every day at the same time, breakfast, and dinner, or thereabouts. Small mercies, he thought. Somebody loved him still. Maybe. Or maybe just didn't want him to die before the Elders passed sentence on him. At any rate, whether they intended it or not, it gave him strength, and set his mind to thinking about something he'd thought was impossible. His future.

He ate his oatmeal, and cleaned his nest—emptying the two buckets that did duty as his bathroom, and his source of fresh water. He pumped fresh water into one, filling it before carrying it up to the loft, came back down and cleaned, put water and feed out for Beau, knowing no one would come into the barn at this time of day. He picked up odds and ends, and did what he could to be at least somewhat useful before hiding out again in the loft.

Up in the loft, he sat behind a wall made of a hay bales and few boxes of things his mama had saved for no reason he could figure, and spent some time writing in the back of an old, moldering cookbook he'd found in one box. It was ancient, the back cracked and rotting, but he'd found a pencil tucked in the spine, so, there was a bit of luck. He skipped past the page he'd made a calendar on, and began to write.

=+=

He was just sitting back, rereading a short poem he'd written, plucking at the words and trying to refit them to make them right, when the quiet was split by loud voices—laughter—coming from the house. The sound drew him, creeping carefully to stare out the window. The flurry of activity sent him to check his makeshift calendar, and Jared realized that it was New Year's Eve. That meant a big dinner, with Jesse's fiancée and her family, no doubt. Jared hunkered down deeper into his nest. There was noise on the barn floor, and he caught snatches of conversation, and realized that they were all of them going to Jesse's fiancée's home to welcome the new year in. 

Once he got past the sudden, sharp, stab of loneliness, Jared realized that he'd actually been presented with an opportunity. The family was out. And darn it— _damn it_ —he was not going to lay back and die for them. For anyone. He was going to live, whatever it took. 

Realistically, he had no home or place in the community anymore, that was for sure. He was positive that the Elders would vote to exile him for eternity, being what he was, and this cold, dry winter would suck the life out of him if he wasn't prepared. 

So. 

He thought about what he would need to survive. The obvious, of course—a way to keep warm, something to eat. A direction to head in. He'd need that one way or another, whether they forced him out, or he chose to leave. He needed to make his own way, and that meant making it in one piece to the Outside. He shuddered, and bile rose in his throat. Riley was the Outside...cold and heartless, taking without thought. But...Mountain Grove was just as heartless, even if they were justified, he supposed. He reminded himself that the Outside was also those nice boys who worked on the new school. That dark-skinned boy with the warm eyes and the sweet smile...and that one boy, that Jack, who'd seemed to care that something bad had happened to Jared. There had to be some places in the city that had people like that, and somewhere he could be safe in. 

Well, he'd find out soon enough, because today, at this start of the new year, Jared was choosing a new life. What he was going to do about the parasite, he'd decide later. Holerah, the damn thing would probably kill him before long anyway, according to the pamphlets the doctor had given him. 

=+=  
He slipped into the house and did a quick search of his former room. There was nothing of his to be seen, but...he got on his knees and stuck his head under the bed he used to sleep in, and there, crumpled into a back corner and obviously overlooked, was an old knapsack. He smiled, and hooked a strap to pull it out. He flipped open the top, and luck was on his side—laying at the bottom was the baggy, over-sized knit hat—this was the knapsack they'd taken on the Runround. He shivered, and forced himself past the blast of nausea thinking about the Runround always brought. He fished around inside the knapsack. Besides the hat, there was still a pocket knife he'd left inside it, a matchcase, some socks, and a book. Wonderful! 

He searched for his other books, his sketch tablets, pencils, and wasn't surprised to find nothing. Just as he thought, his belongings were all gone. Which meant he could search for them, but if he found them and took anything, they'd know he'd been in the house. They'd probably know anyway. Jared decided to give them something to find—he went into the root cellar and stole jars of fruit, vegetables, whatever he could stuff in the pack. He was wearing boots, and his scarf and mittens. Somewhere in the barn, he'd stacked his skis last year. Maybe he could take them as well...he thought about it and decided no. He needed to be able to hide this stuff. 

Back in the barn, he searched around on the floor of Merc's stall, and found what he was looking for—a loose board that opened into a little pit he'd dug in the dirt beneath the floor, a long time ago when he was just a silly, dream-filled kid. He'd had pirates and hidden treasure on his mind then, and thrilled that he'd had his very own secret treasure chest. Life had been so simple then...Jared ruthlessly squashed down useless thoughts, and felt around in the dirt until his fingers bumped against something solid. He came up with a mason jar filled with first whatever pennies he'd found, and then as he'd grown, the bit of money he made helping out Dudek and other farmers in the harvest. It probably wasn't much, but he'd bet he had at least enough for a bus ticket. 

He held the jar up and shook the few bills and coins around and frowned. With some luck, anyway. He rolled up one of the moth-eaten blankets, and tied it to the knapsack. He imagined it wouldn't take him more than two or three days, all told, so besides a sweater, a pair of pants, and a few undershirts, he decided against taking any other clothes. When he made his way to the city, he'd get a job, and buy his own things. He was a hard worker, and smart; someone would want him for sure.

The next day, he headed out early, taking the road he figured his daddy would most likely take. Being cut off from Family would be a secret thing, not meant to have an audience, and Jared knew his daddy—he wasn't going to drop him at the bus stop, that was for sure. No, he'd take Jared way out past the last bit of pasture they owned, and leave him on the edge of the wood, where no one could see. 

Jared grabbed the knapsack, and his mason jar treasure chest and set out for the edge of the wood. He hiked inwards for a while, until the sun was high in the sky, and found a crooked tree with widespread branches. He thought he'd recognize it, apart from the rest, and hid his pack and jar there under fallen leaves. He looked up at the sky with a frown. He hoped against hope it wouldn't snow. Heck—he'd been lucky so far. He'd pray for more, but he was afraid he'd lost that right. 

He trudged out of the wood, much slower than he'd headed into it, and set out for the house, determined to ask for the things of his they'd hidden from him. 

His sister was on the steps when he came through the gate at the side of the yard, and he hesitated. But he missed her so terribly, it made his heart skip a beat to see her, so he kept on walking. Near the porch, he stopped and worked up a smile, trying to hide the way his lips wanted to wobble. "Mer—"

"Abomination," she hissed and jumped up, whisked away into the kitchen, slamming the door shut in his face. 

Jared froze, staring at the spot on the steps where she'd been. He felt as if something inside him had snapped, and if he moved, he'd spill broken pieces of himself everywhere. He was still standing there when his daddy came out and asked, "What is it you want, man? Why are you here? I'll come to get you when the verdict is read."

"I want my books. I bought them with my own money—my tablets and pencils, too." 

His daddy went bright red, his mouth worked a moment before he hissed, "Says the devil's servant. We've fed you out of the generosity of our hearts, gave you a place to sleep, and you dare ta demand a thing from me?"

"It's not yours! It's mine—I bought it!" 

"We'll see about that," his daddy said, and for a second time, the door was shut on him. 

Jared went out that evening, walked right into their small town, marking how all the family shied away from him, as if he might reach out and infect them with his deviancy and did his best to give off the air that he didn't care. He walked right into into their little general store , ignoring the wave of whispering, like a flash-flood in a dry river bed.

He strolled up and down the aisles, picking up a bag of candy, a little sewing kit, and a little Barton bag, the bright red cross on it sort of incongruously cheerful, considering. It would come in handy in case he needed to clean up a cut or scrape. He hoped sincerely that'd be all he had to worry about. 

He walked up to the counter and of course he was ignored, when he wasn't hissed at, or had people making faces at him like they'd just stepped into a steaming cow patty. He made a production of leaving money on the counter—Lord forbid he be accused of stealing as well as being an abomination—and walked out of the store. 

He felt some extra pleasure enjoying his candy that evening in his bed of straw and blankets, and wondered if being an abomination was giving him a skewed sense of humor as well. He sucked on a ginger candy, reflecting, and decided that actually being an abomination hadn't affected his sense of humor much at all. It had always been skewed. _So,_ he thought, _guess I've always been walking on a twisted path._

He should feel awful about it, but tonight, he just felt...kind of, just a little bit, triumphant. He would survive, and when they kicked him out, he was _not_ going to cry, not one lousy tear.

=+=

One day went past, then another, and then came a morning he woke to the smell of smoke. He watched his daddy make a fire, and one by one, throw all the things that had brought him so much joy into it. Jared waited for grief to fill him, for sadness, for anger, but he felt nothing. It was as if the man threw a stranger's things into the eager flames. Daddy looked up, and Jared knew. This was it. 

He took his time. Let the man come and drag him down the ladder if he wanted. He put a sweater on over his shirt, and buttoned his coat over it. He wrapped the red scarf a few times around his neck, topped it off with the baggy hat, and shoved his lumpy mittens into his pockets—the last of the things that were his alone. 

He looked around the loft, at the pile of hay that had been his bed, and the buckets that had been his bathroom and kitchen and the threadbare blankets that had kept him warm in the night, and laughed, and laughed, until his sides ached and his eyes watered. He thought about it, he really did, and knew it was stupid and petty, but—"holerah!" He swung his foot back, and kicked the bucket of piss over before climbing down the stairs and heading out to the yard. 

The wagon was there, with the tailgate down. No one was in the yard, no one was at the windows. 

Daddy looked sort of sideways to Jared, not meeting his eyes, as he said, "On this morning my son, Jared Tytus Padalecki, died. Let no one speak his name. Let no one hear his name. In this world, or the next."

Jared felt faint—everything spun around him, everything felt far away and too close all at once. His stomach twisted, but through an act of sheer will, he kept the contents down, and his eyes open, and didn't buckle, not for a second

After having pronounced the Elder's verdict, Daddy was was silent, just climbing up into the wagon seat and waiting until Jared's weight made the rear dip a bit. He clucked at the horses, and the wagon lurched. They rolled up the drive and Jared sunk his face into his hands. He'd swore that he wouldn't waste a tear on this place and their cruel ways, but he couldn't help it. He watched the place he'd been born in between spread fingers, watched it get smaller and smaller. 

The land passed him by.

Minutes later the wagon slowed, about to come to a stop, but Jared jumped off before it stilled completely and walked straight off into the woods, tears washing his face, drying to freezing tracks on his skin, but he never looked back and he never said a word, or gave the man who shoved him out of his life a second look. 

=+=


	6. He walked away from the place his daddy dropped him

He walked away from the place his daddy dropped him; moving sideways to the path, he angled out towards the woods. Glancing behind himself from time to time, he picked up his pace, even though he knew no one from Mountain Grove would be anywhere about that day. He was sure the whole town knew about the verdict before he did. He ran in earnest after he was deep in the treeline, and it took him no more than fifteen minutes before he found his tree with the crooked branches again, and he hoped it wouldn't take him many more minutes to find his hidden knapsack. 

Despite the chill of the air, he was sweating; when he dropped to the ground with an exhausted sigh, sweat-damp hair curled around his forehead and flopped over his eyes. He brushed it back impatiently as he looked around the little patch of ground. When he'd squirreled away his knapsack that day, he'd been too afraid to leave any kind of marker. Now...he got to his feet and looked around. Now, he was unsure just where he'd left it, and he really didn't look forward to combing the whole forest floor. 

"Think, think," he muttered to himself, rubbing the handful of scarf he clutched against his chin. He took a few hesitant steps, yelped as he stumbled over a big gnarled root, poking up out of the forest floor like a wooden goblin's knee. A yelp of surprise turned into a shout of victory. 

"Ah-ha!" _This,_ he remembered. Jared scrambled to the ground again, hand shushing about through the thick cover of dried leaves, until he pushed through the covering and into a shallow depression under the root. 

The tension locking up his muscles eased a bit when his fingers tangled up in the strap of his knapsack. He ripped it out of its hiding place, knocking clots of dirt and leaves from it before frantically hugging it to his chest. 

"Oh my…." His eyes closed in grateful relief. He'd been terrified someone had found it and took it to be burned with all the other things poor, stupid, monstrous Jared Tytus Padalecki had owned. He plopped down onto the wooden knee, breathing deep, supposedly-calming breaths, according to a long-ago lesson Miss Bartnik taught.

Jared opened his eyes, and watched plumes of steam dance out into the gloomy air. He realized finally how very cold it was, and how much dimmer the woods were now. Shoving his hands into his mittens, and settling the baggy hat firmly on his head, Jared shouldered the knapsack, and exhaled, and stepped deeper into the woods. 

He figured, to the best of his knowledge, it would take him a day or two to make it through this part of the woods, to skirt the edge of the Outside town where the bus station was. He planned to avoid that, and walk on to the next place a body could take a bus. He knew which bus to take: bus number five. The problem was, it was colder out than a brass donkey, and he was hungry. Not only that, he was cramping slightly around his middle, and he hated it. His hands slid over his gut, without even thinking about it, and his fingers hooked like claws in his coat. This thing made him so gosh-darn hungry. His gut chose that moment to let out a low, deep roar, reminding him that being hungry was a trial. "Okay, gosh. I hear you," he growled. 

So, a mile into the woods, two, and then he'd stop and eat some crackers, maybe the jar of pickled cabbage he'd lifted from the pantry. And some peaches. He really did like peaches. 

With something of a goal in mind, he marched in the general direction he hoped to find the next bus station, hoped desperately he wouldn't march right into a bunch of Family somewhere along the way. They wouldn't bother him, but he didn't need a reminder of what he'd made himself lose. 

Of course, it was more horrible than he'd imagined.

=+=

Trudge, trudge, trudge, up hills, down hills...he'd lost track of the distance he'd walked, and at this point, he was numb from the hips down. The darn knapsack felt like he was carrying an elephant, his darn nose was an icicle, his darn cheeks were on fire and if he didn't stop, he was going to die of hunger. And it was dark. He had no darn idea of where he was going, and he felt guilty for cursing, and felt lost and orphaned and hated and just.

He threw himself to the ground and jammed his face into the crook of his elbow. He couldn't cry—it'd just make his face hurt all the more. But his heart cried for him, his lungs squeezed out his pain. 

What else was there for him to do though, except to push forward?

So he went on. Went on stumbling around in the dark, stumbling into trees and falling over roots and bushes and slipping on stones...he'd just picked himself up from his third time landing face first in the leaves. He'd stepped on a small stone, had it roll under his feet and felt his ankle almost give with a sick feeling of fear. 

"That's _it,_ holerah an' peanuts!" he shouted. He was being an idiot. He had to stop. He had no idea where he was, and what if he'd broken his ankle just now? Even spraining it would've been a disaster. And out here somewhere in the dark alone, there wasn't a chance of getting help. What if, some horrified part of his brain asked, what if he'd just wandered around in a huge circle? Or came up against a far-flung part of the community? He could hurt himself crashing around in the dark, and then lay in someone's field for days, starving to death, and they were bound by the verdict to let him starve. He let himself dwell on those awful thoughts for a bit, shivering from cold and horror.

Suddenly, a wave of anger wiped all the fear away. He slammed one mittend hand into the other. "No." He was not giving up. He was not thinking like _that._

He wasn't going to do anyone the favor of removing himself in any way, sinful or accidentally, from the Lord's world. The Lord would have to reach down and grab him out himself, "With your own hands!" Jared screamed upwards into the darkness. Then promptly dropped down with his arms shielding his head, gulping out apologies and breathy pleas for mercy. 

After a few minutes he reined in his galloping emotions and unfolded his gluepig self. He peered around, and saw that he'd been lucky enough to find a pretty good place to stop—a packed line of bushes, a mix of evergreen and bare-branches, but thick enough to provide a wind break. The trees he'd been dueling with all evening were closer together here, their branches drooping almost to the ground. Reminded him a bit of a tent, so he squeezed himself under the branches and pulled out his blanket. That crazy long scarf came in so handy—he wrapped it 'round and 'round his head, right over top of the baggy hat, crossed it under his chin, and stuffed the ends under his coat. Pushing through to the other side of his windbreak, the ground was fairly clear and stony—enough so that he could clear a space for a fire ring, and start a little fire without burning himself and the woods up. 

It was some cold and shaky work, but finally, he had a small fire, and felt life coming back to his face. He could take off his mittens and _eat_ finally. He opened a jar of spiced meat, and his beloved peaches, and sopped up the juice with crackers. It was the best meal he'd ever had. Felt like it anyway. When he was full, and comfortable, he debated pulling out that little caffee pot he'd stolen from his brother, but decided against it. He did feel a little warm spear of contentment—he'd pilfered the pot _and_ some caffee. So there. 

Fishing around in his knapsack, he found the candy he'd bought himself, and had a couple of pieces and some gulps of water from a canteen. He shook it. If he was careful, it should last through most of the day tomorrow. He had another full one. He had to hope that he was heading in the right direction, or that he'd find clean water soon. But that was a worry for tomorrow. 

He banked the fire, and rolled up best he could in the blanket, shoved up close to the tree trunk. Before he even finished yawning, he was out, dead to the world. 

=+=  
When he woke up, the fire was out and he was aching all over from the cold. He had to force himself to get up, despite his traitorous body telling him it was warm and toasty under his tissue thin blanket, and how gooood it would feel to close his eyes again, that the feeling he was feeling was his body warming up, not—

Jared's eyes jerked open. He lurched to his feet, his toes tingling and aching. "Okay, okay…" he shuffled around, head turning to take in his little bower under the trees. He had to...he had to move first, get his blood percolating; he could eat on the run. 

=+=

It soon became abundantly clear to Jared that he had not the faintest idea of where he was, or where he was going. Or how to get where he was going. He settled on a point and began walking. What else could he do? 

In and out of the trees, through banks of dead leaves, and across rocky, marshy little rivulets, he walked. He thought about dinner, what he'd be eating if he could...baked chicken, yams, biscuits dripping with butter and honey, jars of fresh, creamy milk—oh, cocoa! Mugs of hot, thick, delicious cocoa, maybe topped with those little marshmallows Daddy would bring back from the Outside town sometimes—Jared's little bubble shattered, and he was back in the forest: cold, hungry, hurting, and alone. 

Well, the doctor's pamphlets said he wasn't alone, was he? There was a thing growing inside him, some...hitchhiker thing that had no business being. 

Jared stomped along a path, an old deer trail. This thing inside, tiny as it might be now, was slowly taking him over...latching on to him like a parasite. It wasn't like he hadn't noticed, more and more the last few weeks, how he was changing. Getting wider around the middle—his pants were getting tighter and tighter, his shirts were tighter across the shoulders. At least, all thanks, his chest wouldn't get...bigger. Dear Lord, he wouldn't have been able to live with that. He tried to imagine a world where things like a—a—a pregnant _man_ was normal. He just _couldn't._ Men having babies, men doing—things—with other men like it was nothing….

How was he supposed to live in that world? His hand rubbed against his middle again. Well, according to the doctor's information, he might not have to live in that world. They told him he was a delicate creature, that being a carrier meant his life tottering in the balance. Never mind that besides the hunger, the exhaustion, the nausea, the shakes...he was fine. Just fine.

Jared snorted, and something in the tree overhead scrambled away. An acorn bounced off his head, and landed at his feet. Jared laughed in surprise, then called out, "Sorry, Squirrel!" For some reason, getting conked by a squirrel made him feel somewhat better. The feeling lasted until the sun started to drop, and he drank the last bit of his water and ate half of a sleeve of crackers and tried to convince himself he didn't need anything else. Blinking back tears, he walked on, stumbling over something that he ignored; he'd been stumbling over dropped branches and roots all day. His boot scraped leaves away from what was a fallen mile-marker sign, but Jared didn't look down, so didn't see that he'd stumbled over a sign that marked the walking trail for a summer tourist's campsite….

It was fully dark before Jared decided that he'd have to stop. Or rather his knees let him know, "we're done." 

He wobbled over to a fallen tree and sat. He felt bad—he'd only been in the woods, what, two days? Had only spent one night under the stars, would tonight, but he felt like he'd been lost and wandering for _days_ and there was just no end in sight. How was he supposed to find the road? A darker thought crawled out of the box he'd tried to keep shut...did others who'd been shunned die in the woods too? Or was he just too young and stupid to find a way? He tried to stand but a sharp stabbing cramp raced around his middle, and bent him at the knees; left him gasping in pain. "Mama, help…" he muttered, not completely aware of what he was saying. 

Some long seconds passed before the pain let up; he staggered forward, wheeling back to the log when he realized he'd left his darn knapsack behind. 

"Oh gosh, I'm so tired, 'm so cold, my feet hurt and my nose hurts, and I've got a head—holerah!"

There was a cabin, he could see the outline of it through the trees. A cabin! 

A rush of excitement hit, and then common sense woke up in him—he quickly dropped into a crouch. 

_People!_

Oh no, what if someone saw him...but wait, they'd probably be Outsiders, wouldn't they? They were probably used to deviancy, saw it all the time—not like they worried about the Lord and his children, poor fools were born on a slide to hell. Still, no matter whose doorstep he landed on, he was an extra mouth to feed, and though it was on every person to welcome the traveler to the table, these people more'n'likely were _Outsider._ Who knew how'd they'd react if Jared came strolling up to their door in the dark?

He'd wait until morning, that's what. He'd wait until the sun was up and then come knocking. Even if they refused him a place at the table, they'd surely give him water? That was just a basic human kindness.

Jared walked slowly, quietly towards the cabin, trying not to make a lot of noise. Maybe there was someplace he could sleep, out of the cold. Maybe an outbuilding...he practically tip-toed into the cabin's yard. It was dark, and so was the cabin. Really dark. He glanced at the windows. No light at all, no flickering candle light, no electric bulb on anywhere...he glanced at the roof. No smoke? It was cold, surely they'd have a fire going? Maybe they had a furnace, like Daddy had installed when the Elders approved. 

Jared crept closer, running into a fence post, feeling his way along the length of the fence quietly, only to stumble over some low step, and then run into a metal box on a post...he finally made it to a window and peeked inside. No light. No movement...he made his way around the house, peeking in one window after another until he'd circled around to the front door. He knocked, quietly, tentatively, a little bolder because at this point, he was nearly certain no one was in the house. 

So. 

Cabin in the woods. No person at home, apparently. 

Law and common sense dictated that he leave immediately. Self-preservation and a wish to thumb his nose at the world lead him to trying the door knob. His little sense of bravado collapsed when the door proved to be locked. Seemed he'd be sleeping in the woods after all. Sadness washed over him; sighing, he turned around to head back across the yard and stubbed his toe—of course.  
_"Ah, holery!"_

What a night. What a night, and what a few days of disappointment. He dropped his knapsack, and just...stood there, frozen in anger, frustration, wanting to kick something, _hard._ Like that box on the doorstep. Under the doorstep...the thing he'd stubbed his toe on and knocked out of its hidey-place—

His heart beat like crazy, and he tried his best not to get excited, but families often had a box by the front door that held household keys...he knelt and pulled the lid off, and the Lord let there be a key. Finally. A bit of good luck his way. 

He stood, clutching key, biting his lip. What if they were just on a shopping trip? What if they came home and there was a horrible stranger in their house? His lips wobbled, trying to fight a smile; a giggle forced its way out, and another, and then another, and suddenly he was laughing fit to bust. What if they were _bears?_ Three ole, grumpy bears of varying sizes, and. 

And holerah. He needed to get in out of the cold and eat something. He'd deal with what happened next when it happened. The world was not about to kill him, not tonight. Not in the next few hour, anyway. He stuck the key in the door and gave it an emphatic twist, and stepped over the threshold when the door swung open. 

=+=  
Being cast out in winter, unbelievable as it seemed, might actually have been in Jared's favor. This cabin he'd stumbled across was obviously not meant for living through the winter months, leastways the empty, un-lived in feeling gave him hope for that. He made up his mind that this was his lucky break, that no one was coming out in this cold to vacation, and it was outside of hunting season, so...yes, this was his lucky break and it behooved him to take full advantage of it. Once Jared had decided that, he dropped his knapsack and got to work.

=+=  
The cottage was cold, but getting warmer, thanks to a pot-bellied stove sitting on a narrow brick pad in the area doing duty as a kitchen. Above that stove was a narrow cabinet filled with cans and jars and even a small bag each of sugar and flour. 

There was a deep old sink with a hand-pump, so water was convenient. He was relieved that he wouldn't have to go out to a well and have to do battle with ice and frigid air. Sitting on the floor near the sink was a big zinc tub, like the ones they used to water the horses. It looked big enough for him to crawl into. Emptying it would be a holerah of a chore, but to rid himself of the smell of his own stink? He'd be willing to undertake it. 

On the other side of the stove was a tiny closet; he opened the door and whooped out loud, he was that excited by his find.

A _toilet,_ a beautiful, white, porcelain bowl, with a flush knob at the end of a tall pipe rising out of the back of it. Jared danced for a second, just overcome with the thrill of it all. "It's like Christmas!" he crowed. "Better than Christmas—wait!" 

He turned the knob, and the toilet flushed as sweet as could be. He flushed the toilet again, crowing in victory when it worked once more. He couldn't stop grinning. He wouldn't have to freeze off any bits of himself dashing to an outhouse in the night. 

This was amazing, this was wonderful, this was every adventure book he'd ever read, wrapped up and presented to him toasty warm and snug. 

The rest of the space was taken up with a table and chairs, and a bed off to the side, blocked from view by a hanging blanket. Snuggled up to the bed was a small, low bookshelf that held a couple of baskets, as well as few books. The baskets were full of blankets and sheets, some towels, some washcloths, some simple necessities. A blanket hung on the wall behind the head of the bed too. Whoever owned the cabin must have hung it to brighten up the place. It did its job. He liked the bright geometric blocks of color. 

Best, though, was the last piece of furniture: a big oak rocker, angled to catch heat from the stove. The rocker had to have been made by Family, Wohas-made by the looks of it. He pictured himself curled up in it, full and warm. His sighed with happiness, and then blinked as his eyes pricked. Last night he slept in a bed of leaves, freezing cold and hungry. Tonight, he'd be warm, and full. He turned around, taking it all in—and burst into tears. 

He dropped to the floor and curled his arms around his knees, hiding his face against them. "What in the world am I crying for," he stammered out between bouts of tears. And a little voice in his head said, _well, you're crying because you're alive, and you're warm, and they haven't beat you yet, not yet._

When he could get control of himself again, he decided to sleep and tackle his life again in the morning. He wrapped himself in his blanket, not comfortable enough to use someone else's linens without permission, and argued with himself—"remember the cold, hard ground, and your hind-parts dead to the world?" before gingerly laying himself down on a stranger's bed. It would probably take him a while to fall asleep….

Sunlight coming through the window, bright as a spotlight, forced him to open his eyes. It took him a few bleary minutes to connect the dots.

He stumbled into the waking world again, trailing his blanket behind him. He came to a stop...and smiled. The place looked even better than he'd thought last night. 

It was a bone-deep pleasure to cook up some caffee—until he started the pot he had no idea how he'd survived without it. With the wonderful smell percolating through the cabin, he managed to whip up some pancakes with the powdered eggs and milk he found. It didn't take him long to load a plate with them and drizzle a ton of honey atop them. Bite after bite had him moaning in pleasure. The pancakes were good...it only needed a few spoonfuls of canned peaches to make breakfast even better. 

After a really glorious breakfast, he poured himself another mug of caffee, and wandered around the room, mug clutched in his hand and warming his fingers. He felt good—slightly more relaxed, and that seemed to translate into less cramping and tightness around his gut. 

He finished his caffee sitting near the stove, his stocking feet held close to warm them, and then curiosity drove him to poke about in all the corners of the place. He was nosy, he accepted this about himself. His mama had always told him….

Turning sharply from those thoughts, he explored what there was of the cabin. Whoever lived here during hunting season had a sweet tooth, bless 'em—there was sugar and honey and a small bag of chocolate chips in the cabinet, along with different sorts of canned fruits. He could tell by the few items of clothing he found in one of the baskets the owner was a man, and a slightly portly man at that. 

Jared held up the garish plaid shirt he'd found, spreading it wide, and thought hard. Some day soon, his clothes were going to be too small. His shirts were already tight...with a huge wave of guilt and so many unspoken apologies, Jared decided when he left this place it'd be with this shirt. And a multi-colored sweater, and an acid-green long-sleeved knit shirt...he tried to tell himself the person who owned this had so much more money then he did and would hardly miss a few worn, moth-nibbled items of clothing. From the looks of them, he'd probably brought these items out to this cabin to hide. And if he didn't he should have.

He slipped the shirt on, folded back the sleeves. It might be a bit wild color-wise, but it was wonderfully soft and thicker than it had seemed at first. Sighing with the pleasure of being warm and comfortable, he turned towards the books. 

"Oh gosh." They were nothing like what was available in Mountain Grove. There were a couple of books about carriers; judging by their lurid covers he doubted they were meant to be educational.

He flipped open one and almost dropped it, heat flashing over his skin. An uncomfortable twitch in his pants made him blush even harder, his rod tingling in a disturbing way. Jared clapped the book shut and shoved it back in the shelf, looking around in mortification as he did—a smart reflex in a person so used to being caught out misbehaving. But no one was there, of course. Flushing again, he defiantly grabbed the book back from the shelf—and the other carrier book, stacking them on top of the bed. "Ha," he muttered. "So there."

He forced his attention back to the shelves. There was definitely an odd selection of titles, with no rhyme or reason to them he could see. What an...what's the word, he mused...eclectic! Whoever lived here certainly had eclectic taste. A few other books caught his eye and piqued his curiosity. The jackets called them _murder mysteries._

Later, when Jared finally got around to reading one of those books, it took him some time to understand. The concept of killing someone  
so secretively and in such a convoluted way stumbled him at first, but when he got into the swing of things, he found he rather liked them. At this moment though, other books he found captured his attention. They were closer to the types of books he was familiar with: history books, a couple of cookbooks, and a book of general home repairs. He opened the home repair book and found an inscription on the fly leaf. "To Uncle Jim, Merry Christmas with love." Opening one of the history books, he found a bookplate signed _'Jim Beaver._

So that must be the name of the owner. Jared tried to imagine this man—portly, not very tall—probably about his height, going by the pants he'd eased to the side (some day soon, that wider waist was going to come in handy as well). 

So this was the occasional home of Mr. Jim Beaver, who had good taste in furnishing, but terrible taste in clothes. He smiled. Yes, and somewhat sketchy tastes in books as well.

=+=


	7. This cabin really was a perfect spot to hide in.

After cleaning up, Jared unloaded his pack on the bed, and took stock. Besides the bag of candy and the canned goods he had left, there were the few candles and matches he'd shoved into his knapsack before running. Though there were plenty in the cabin, he figured he should use his own—he was taking enough from Mr. Beaver as it was. Speaking of which...he pulled the book out of the knapsack, and found a pencil in one of the baskets. Sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the stove, he opened his book and carefully wrote on the flyleaf: _Mr. Jim Beaver: one can of peaches. One sack flour, one sack sugar, one shirt, one pair of pants, two sweaters…._

That evening, he heated up a jar of the spiced meat he'd taken from home, and made some rice to go with it. 

_How strange...Outsiders eat the same thing the Family does,_ he thought, and then scolded himself. They were Outsiders, but human. Of course, they ate same as Family did, they'd eaten familiar food at the—that, that Runround with those people. Outsiders were just...adrift. Jared sighed. Adrift just like he was. Who was he to judge, in any way? 

After his dinner, curiosity brought him inching outdoors; he peered about carefully, before finally deciding it was safe enough to come out onto the tiny sliver of porch. He looked around with interest. There was a small grill welded to a post sitting to one side of the porch—he'd made its acquaintance pretty forcefully the first night here. He couldn't help but smile at the sight. It was a familiar kind of object. They often grilled during the hottest parts of the summer. Daddy had a dab hand with a chicken....Jared wiped roughly at the tears that caught him by surprise. 

Sighing deeply, he continued his inspection of the cabin. Right off the porch was a long stretch of dirt. Jared bet himself that it was part of an access road and a place to park their weird cars; at home, they'd had a similar patch of dirt where they parked their carriage. Beyond the patch there was nothing but dense wood, and that settled him quite a bit. 

This cabin really was a perfect spot to hide in. 

The chill in the air made itself known, sending sneaky, icy fingers down his collar and up under the hem of his thin shirt...Jared shuddered, gladly heading inside to spoon up his evening meal. He trimmed the lantern, making its light bright and clear. Sitting at the table, inhaling heaps of rice and meat, one of the history books laid open on the table for him to read as he ate, it hit him. For the first time in weeks, he felt good. Happy, even. He had no idea what the future was going to bring and what he was going to do with this _thing_ inside, but for the moment, he was just going to enjoy his meal and read his book.

He washed up the dishes, and swept the cabin floor—he was not leaving a mess for Mr. Beaver, no way. After he'd finished his self-appointed chores, he climbed into bed—right under the covers. It was like sleeping on a cloud. The mattress on this bed in this occasional home was softer, more comfortable than the one on his bed in Mountain Grove. The blanket over it was thick, and warm—he'd settled his own thread-bare blanket on it too and it was heaven. 

He should take advantage of this luxury and read a bit before sleeping, he really should...he glanced at the history book he'd left on the table—and then at the lurid cover of the book atop the bookshelf. His fingers crept over the blanket, reaching to it, taking it up and staring wide-eyed at the cover. His mouth went dry; his rod twitched as he read the title. _Desire In the Dust: The Sheikh and the Carrier._ He ran his finger over the word _Desire,_ his breath going faster. "Desire...oh. Gosh."

He flipped it open and midway through was an illustration: two men wrapped around each other, close, but not so close that Jared couldn't see the erection the one man sported, how the other clutched it in his hand. A hot, thick throb rushed through his groin, and Jared whimpered. The description of what was going on, how the carrier wanted the other man in both...both…

Under the cover of his blanket, he shimmied out of underwear he wore to bed, and lay completely, totally, scandalously naked under the sheets. Jared closed his eyes and groaned. His own fingers followed the action of the men in the book. His fingers closed around the tip of his rod, pulling the loose skin up, squeezing, and then pulling down to reveal the wet, pink head of his rod. He did that a few times, until his fingers trembled. He put the tip of one finger into the hood of skin, and rubbed over the tip, pressing against the slit until it was soaking wet. His legs were trembling, his gut jumping, and he took the slick wet finger out of the hood and slid it over his sac, stopping to roll his balls in his fingers and then, slowly, hesitantly, he slid his fingers lower, inserting the tip of one into the slightly puffy seam between his netherhole and his balls.

He hissed at the odd feeling; he almost jerked his finger back out, but pushed on, rotating his finger and waiting for...something. The carrier in the book seemed to love it, but he couldn't say it was especially thrilling. It felt okay—better when he kept the rubbing right at the edge of opening. 

He shrugged and returned his attention to his rod, stroking, squeezing...clear fluid dripped from his rod, pooling in the spaces between his fingers. He gathered it up and slipped fingertips back down past his sac, lower until he was trailing them between his cheeks, skating lightly over his netherhole, feeling wicked—and a little unsure—deliberately touching a place one only did by necessity. He rubbed there, just because, and was surprised by a little rush of pleasure. It made him shiver., but in a pleasant way. He pushed the tip of his finger in, and groaned at how good it felt. He kept one hand on his rod, the other working between his cheeks.

This was different, this was better. He was so sensitive there, it felt good to rub around the muscle, pull and push his finger in. He pushed in deeper, bumped into a nub that showered his whole body with sparkles of pleasure—sped up the movement of the hand on his rod in tandem, and it wasn't too long before a long, hot, wave of pleasure swept from his opening up through his rod, wrapped around his belly and rushed into his chest, lighting up all the nerves in between. He came, and spunk flew out and spattered his chest, then dripped over his fingers, fell hot and wet on the slight curve of his belly. 

After a minute or two, he found himself shivering even harder, going from quaking in a thick wave of pleasure, to being slightly nauseated. His belly was tightening, and releasing, and it made him feel even more like he'd been invaded. He wiped himself with the wadded up fabric of his underwear, and set the book back into the shelf. He turned away to face the wall and sank under the covers. All the good feelings had flown, he only felt guilty, horrified, and for some strange reason, sad. He pushed his face into the pillow, and imagined brushing Merc, counted the strokes of the brush over and over until he finally fell asleep.

In the morning, he showered, and took _those_ books, and slid them into the knapsack, right at the bottom of the bag. He was not going to look at them again. This was something he'd think about at—at some other time. 

=+=  
A little more than a week later, Jared found himself jolting upright out of a sound sleep. For a second or two, he couldn't place where he was, until the wood walls swam into focus and he remembered. From outside came the sound that brought him out of sleep—voices. Men talking, low murmurs and occasional bursts of laughter. The sound got steadily louder; he heard a _thunk-thunk,_ and then the voices receded. It was quiet again. Jared sighed. 

Well, that was his sign. Time to move on. He felt a real sense of loss; he'd enjoyed every second of being here alone, looking out only for himself. He enjoyed the heck out of it. But now his house of comfortable cards was about to come tumbling down, so….

Jared rose, and dressed quickly, eating a handful of dried fruits instead of the lovely pancakes he'd grown used to having. He leaned against the wall close to the door and waited, listening out to be sure no one was returning, then hurried outside to see what it was that made the dull thunk he'd heard earlier. 

It was a sign, driven into the edge of the dirt lot. It appeared that his sanctuary was for sale. Tilting his head, he read the sign, slowly chewing on a piece of dried fig as he did. 

"Cabin for sale. Inquire at the main lodge building, or contact Jim Beaver…." And that was followed by and address, and a string of numbers Jared recognized after a few moments as a telephone number. 

"Hunh." Jared wondered just how much traffic there was past the cabin—in the two weeks he'd been there, no one had passed by. But that was surely about to change. More than likely there'd be people coming to make it ready for sale, or interested parties dropping in to see if they'd like to buy the place, so as much as it saddened him, it was time to get scarce. This whole idea of camping here for the winter just been a silly dream anyway. Besides, that had never been the plan—he'd just taken advantage of what seemed o be a good deal. It was time to ready himself and get back on the path—bus number five and the big city. Still, it was lucky to have found this out now, instead of in the middle of a snow-storm or something. Silver linings. "More like tin," he muttered and headed back inside.

Jared squashed his almost ever-present feeling of guilt down, and poked through the cabinets, selecting some tinned meats and fruits—he might not be that far from the city, or he might be miles and miles from it. Better safe than sorry. 

There were a few cans of corn, plus a can of green beans that he wrinkled his nose at. He pushed it back into the shelf but remembered his mother saying, when she carried Mercy, babies needed good nutrition to grow right. He supposed beans were good nutrition—his mother had said so often enough. With a grimace, he tossed the beans into the knapsack as well. He reshelved the books, but kept the cookbook, which probably would come in handy, and one of the mysteries—and the two featuring carriers; he stuffed them into his bag along with the other items.

Jared stood there, the knapsack in his hands. He was reluctant, but—one of the blankets he'd been using went into the bag as well. It seemed being shunned had turned him into a thief.

"The criminal life…" He sighed, then shrugged. Well, there wasn't anything he he could do about it. He refused to die because the Fathers decided he was such a freak and a monstrosity and so awash in sin that he didn't belong in Mountain Grove anymore—that he wasn't part of Family anymore. "Holerah...no, _Hell!_ " he barked, then immediately blushed at his words, and then was angry with himself for blushing.

"The world's just going to have to get used to my filthy mouth. This is the new, not-nice Jared. Not giving a single fig about anything from now on except _me!_ " He kicked the edge of the bed, and then, anger faded and sadness overtook him and he knuckled sudden tears from his eyes. 

"And this—this thing, too, I guess," he muttered, and ran a stiff hand roughly over the slight swell of his stomach. His thoughts twisted up around what he was supposed to be now, perverted and filthy, and what that terrible, hateful, life-ruiner had said about him, branding him a slut, and a violent wave of nausea nearly knocked him over. Liar. That boy was a liar—and—and if any one was a thief, he was. He'd stolen Jared's life; he chewed it up and spit it out just for fun. 

Jared shook himself like a spaniel, trying to clear his head of useless thoughts. He had a mission, and it was time to get to it. He was so grateful for what he'd had here these few weeks, and he realized just how truly lucky he was that the men hadn't detected the smell of wood smoke. And speaking of wood smoke….

He decided to gamble on his luck holding out—he refused to see it as anything else but a streak of luck. He lit one last fire in the stove, boiled some water to take a one last hot bath. Who knew when he'd be able to do that again, and he just...Jared shuddered. Just couldn't imagine walking around greasy and grimy. If the men come back, he'll just say—he' ll just say—he'll tell the truth and hope the Outsiders take pity on him and don't run him off, jaybird naked into the trees. 

Getting out of the tub, he sat back on the bed, bare-butt since the stove kept the room warm enough, and read a final chapter of the history book, enjoying a bit of canned chocolate pudding while he did. 

It felt good, even though he knew he had to leave. Jared mulled over the idea that this hadn't been as terrible a punishment as he'd expected. In fact, so far, the lord had been especially lenient and kind—much more so than his parents had been. Jared closed his eyes, and whispered a hesitant but heartfelt prayer of thanks. "It's been good so far, thank you for not instantly smiting me when...you know what happened. Sorry for not talking to you before now, I've wanted to so badly, but I've been really busy. And scared. Too scared to. Sorry again. And thank you. And sorry again."

The light slanting into the cabin was darkening from morning to late afternoon, and he couldn't put it off any longer. He dressed reluctantly, and took the broom to sweep out the cabin one last time. He cleaned everything—emptied and practically polished the tub, cleaned the stove until it was actually cleaner than when he'd first stepped in the cabin. By he time he finished the little place gleamed. He sighed, wished with all his might he could have stayed but...he sat at the table, and ripped a blank page from the back of his book. He carefully copied down the list he'd been keeping; all the things of Mr. Beaver's he'd used. 

_"Dear Mr. Beaver,  
You don't know me, and probably never will. I confess that I've used your cabin, and stolen things from you, and I'm very sorry. Please believe me, I'm not normally a thief, but circumstances have forced me to be one. I swear, I plan to pay you back, every penny. When I can. I have your address and someday, you'll receive every cent back. I promise you.  
Yours,  
Jared_

_P.S. These are the things I took.  
One can of peaches.  
One sack flour  
One sack sugar  
One shirt, one pair of pants  
two sweaters…._

Jared wrote down every single item he'd used, then left his note on the table with a can of peaches weighting it down. Shouldering the now heavy knapsack, he forced himself to leave the cabin which had been such a pleasant sanctuary for him. He hesitated on the porch, looking longingly back inside, taking in the little stove, the bed topped with its homey blanket. Who knew if he'd ever have someplace as nice as this to call home? 

Sighing, Jared locked the door, hid the key back in it's not so hidey hidey-place. 

He stopped at the end of the drive before setting out across the little dirt patch and took his book from his knapsack. He copied down the address of Mr. Jim Beaver, and after a moments thought, the telephone number as well. He honestly did plan to pay Mr. Beaver back. the Lord willing, he'd find a way to do it.

The sun was beginning to set, and Jared remembered how awful it was to stumble about the woods in the dark, but he was afraid that if he waited until morning to leave, he'd never be able to pull himself out of this bit of comfort and safety. He'd try to nest there like a fool, and get caught and probably end up in jail or in the circus with the other freaks, so—

"Good-bye, Mr. Beaver's cabin. It's been wonderful. I'll miss you so much." 

A few hours later, Jared was dripping with sweat, bruised from running into things in the dark, irritated and steadily getting more nervous by the minute. While he identified most sounds out in the dark, the sounds he didn't recognize had him jumping and freezing; staring round-eyed into the night as though bigger eyes would help him to see better. 

Shuffling forward gingerly through the darkness brought him crashing down over a low drop-off. He hit soft, almost sugary dirt—small mercies—and rolled a short distance. 

"Oh, my aching...aching things. Peanuts!" Jared pulled himself carefully up to sitting, wincing at a few aches and pings and scratches, but certain that he was mostly okay. He had a short, shallow, gash on his wrist that needed cleaning out. Otherwise he was fine—and lucky.

Scooting backwards out of sight of the bright patch of moonlight he'd fallen into, he saw what it was the moon was highlighting—a Jared-sized hollow under the thick, twisted, tree roots of the that had sent him flying down the little hill. 

_"And you couldn't have shown yourself before I fell off the cliff?"_ he growled at the moon, before dragging himself underneath those thick roots. He beat the knapsack up into something of a pillow, and wrapping a blanket around himself, he hunkered down and hoped for sleep. He was exhausted enough to feel comfortable in his hole in the dirt. A huge, jaw-cracking yawn shook him, and he almost laughed, recalling the way his sister would dodge and throw her arms up when he yawned, acting as if she was in danger of being eaten by her brother. Laughter leached away quickly and he frowned. 

It was certain his sister wasn't thinking of him now, and if she was, if any of them were, it wasn't with fondness. Well, so what? He didn't need them, anymore than they needed him. Jared added another layer to the wall around his heart. He'd never get caught out again, never be betrayed by anyone again, not if he could help it. 

His last thought before he drifted off was of his family, wondering if they'd ever truly loved him. 

=+=

Jared thought it was another bit of luck when he stumbled across a swiftly-running streamlet the next morning. It was narrow, so narrow he could straddle it easily, but the water was clear and fresh and cold, and he filled his bottles with such a deep sense of gratitude that it almost hurt. He knelt at the wet edge, heedless of the damp mud wetting the knees of his pants. 

Searching through the knapsack, he found an empty can he'd saved to use as a cup. Scooping up the icy water, he dumped a cupful over his head, letting out a very undignified shriek—shivering, he wondered if might be worthwhile to heat some water up, but quickly decided against it. If he kept moving, he ought to hit a road soon, and then hopefully, catch the bus and then, the city. Where he'd bathe in hot water, and drink hot caffee, and sleep without worrying what might walk over his face in the night. 

He scrubbed a few cold handfuls of water over his face, and lifted his shirt to scrub over his pits too. Sighing, Jared smoothed his shirt back down, quickly whipped a comb through his damp hair as well. Sitting on a drier patch of ground, he watch the sun rise while brushing his teeth. He tossed the brush and comb back into the can, and shoved it all back into the knapsack. 

Not coming up with a reason to wait, he started out again, chewing on a strip of horrible dried meat he'd found in the cabinet, and chasing each barely digestible bite with a few pieces of dried fruit. With no other plan, he hiked along the ridge of dirt that loosely followed the swift rill of water, until eventually he was in a thicker part of the woods, stomping along what must be a deer track, an old one, he guessed, what with its width and the way the underbrush was thin around it. Along the way, he stripped a few berries off the canes that stuck up through the underbrush, doing his best to fill his pockets. He was perfectly willing to put up with being pricked and out-right stabbed because those few late berries were a welcome addition to all the canned goods he'd been eating. 

The sun was high over head before he decided he'd earned a dinner break. Using another bit of purloined equipment—a key to cut through the top of the can—he revealed a great treat, canned hash. He'd felt guilty taking it—he knew it was a more costly item than most other tinned meat or the fruit, but...he practically stuffed his nose into the can, huffing in the delicious smell of seasoned potatoes, meat, and the Lord knew just how he wished he could heat it up. 

Jared sighed. But on the bright side, here he was, with dinner and dessert, and even dinner music—he grinned as a pair of birds trilled up and down the scale over his head. Digging a couple of fingers into the can, he hooked them out covered with hash, and sucked them clean, eyes bouncing over the view in front of him, thinking about what the next few days might bring. That morning he'd noticed that the frost was was thicker than it had been a few days ago, so he knew it'd be a cold night. It was getting dark already and as much as he hated spending another night in the woods, he was resigned to it. 

Tomorrow, bright and early, he'd be on the road, he'd find a station, and then be on the bus to the city. And once he was in the city, he was going to have the biggest, darkest cup of caffee ever in the world. 

Jared was so fixed on that image he actually moaned out loud. With a tiny, embarrassed laugh, he stuck his hash covered fingers back in his mouth and sucked, twirling his tongue around them until he was only licking and sucking at damp, bare skin, every bit of the salty, meaty taste gone. It only tasted like his skin now, and he was hugely disappointed. He peered into the can, pouting like a little kid. Empty, barely a smell left, he'd worked so hard to clean the can out. "Oh well...guess that means it's time for dessert."

He was chewing his last handful of berries when exhaustion took him over again. With no fire to tend, he settled his scarf and hat as tightly as he could, rolled up in his blankets, said a quick prayer, and hoped for the morning to come quickly. Sleep shoved him over the edge of the real world, into lonely dreamscapes that made him whimper and shake. 

When Jared woke again, achy from the cold and trying to sleep on hard ground under him, it took him a second or two to gather where he was. He peered about in the gray dawn light—and almost knocked himself out jerking back from an eye-to-eye with some _thing_ —a huge, needle-fanged creature, with a blood-crazed look in its beady eyes. A beast from hell, finally come for his rancid soul—

"Lord spare my sou— _holerah!"_

A possum.

A possum that he'd just scared the daylights out of by screaming in its ratty little face. It opened its mouth wide, hissed like Jared was the one that did it wrong and rambled off. 

Jared wiped his face frantically—what had the darn thing been doing to his face in his sleep? 

He checked himself over carefully, shuddering. He was dry, and only slightly more gritty that when he fell asleep, so he counted that in the good column. Aching bones and cranky hips, and a steady, pulsing pain in his midsection he counted in the bad. It took him more than a few minutes to come crawling creakily upright. 

_Oh my goodness. Is this is what it feels like to be old?_ Jared wondered. He was too stiff to move; breathing felt like an overwhelming chore, so much so that he wondered it was worth the effort. He was wondering if maybe the thing to do was just lay back down and let the frost cover him and put his life in someone else's hands, when an odd sound broke into the downward spiral of his thoughts He jerked, gasping in a deep pull of cold air; he heard it again—a hiss, a rumble, a loud bleating in the distance, but not so very far. Less than a day's walk, he was sure of it. 

A feeling of sunshine, of lightness built in his chest. A bus. He was sure that's what he'd just heard. A bus and pretty close by. He took off running in the direction of the sounds.

Another couple of hours of non-stop walking, and finally Jared was standing on the edge of the woods, his knees trembling with fatigue, looking out on what had to be a bus station—it occurred to him that he was going to be an oddity, something these Outsiders had never seen before. And when they found out he was a carrier and an abomination….

Would they be able to tell? Would they look at him and see a boy who only felt what his brother described as a "thrilling lift to the heart" when he looked at other boys? 

Jared stared across the wide road at the glass-fronted building. There was a bus that was going to take him away from his family and his old life forever. Tears filled his eyes suddenly, overflowed hot and fast down his cheeks. Lord, how he wished he'd never gone on that Runround. He wished with all his heart he'd never talked to that boy. Or drank all of that beer, whiskey, whatever it was. Why had he lain with that life-ruiner and spread his legs and Lord, there were so many things he regretted, so, so many, and….

He'd never be able to forget. He'd have the reminder of it for all his natural life. 

Just like that his knees gave out and he fell, crying even harder, so hard his gut contracted painfully, and the hash he'd tucked into the night before started dancing, threatening a return. Words bounced and boiled on the edges of his mind, awful words he tried his best to fight down, but they tumbled and rattled and grew bigger and louder and sharper until hardly realizing it, Jared was screaming _"I hate you, I hate you I hate you"_ into his cupped hands. 

Not sure who he meant—that—that— _Riley,_ his parents, the thing inside him? Jared just screamed and screamed until he was sick and exhausted and shaking from the strength of his emotions. 

When he was sure he could walk without falling again, Jared took the first steps towards what was sure to be a very different, probably difficult, life—but—he scrubbed at his wet cheeks and runny nose-, and took a shaky breath. It'd be _his_ life at least, on his terms.


	8. Outsiders. They were crazy, too loud, too fast, and definitely dangerous. What a life he was doomed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part three: Finding the City

His determined, heads-up, march across the road became a mad dash for safety. Out of nowhere it seemed the road was was suddenly filled with cars, whizzing to and fro, all helter-skelter, beeping and squalling. Jared ran for dear life, praying to make it past the great stinking behemoths that blared at him as he ran. 

He reached the other side, and stumbled to a stop, panting and glaring at the gray ribbon of death he'd, _thank you Lord,_ managed to survive. 

Outsiders. 

They were crazy, too loud, too fast, and definitely dangerous. What a life he was doomed to.

Jared knit up his unraveled nerve, took a deep breath and headed towards the double glass doors of the station. He stood tall, right up until the moment he pushed the doors open; uncertainty and plain old fear had him slouching into the station's waiting room like a whipped puppy, his shoulders curled inward and his head down. If he was quiet enough...well. Mousing about hadn't worked for him yet. 

But there was always a first time….

He crossed the small room quickly as he could without outright running, and came to stop in front of a board hanging next to the ticket window. 

_Bus Schedule_ Okay. This was somewhat familiar to him—nearly the same setup as the bus station in town outside of Mountain Grove. It had the same simplified map, marked with a thick blue line broken by yellow dots representing the towns on the route. The last yellow dot was larger than the others. _Nice._ he read. The big city. He hoped it lived up to its name. 

Leaning into the small window of the ticket booth he asked "How much does a ticket for bus five cost, please? I mean, to Nice?"

"Ni-ke. That's how it's said, son. Now, a one-way ticket to Nice is two dollars—dollar a day, works out to." The ticket master's correction was soft, and his expression was kind. "Going on a Runround, there? There's some hostels not far from the last stop that keep rooms for you young ones. Here." He slid over a pamphlet with pictures of smiling young people on the front leaf. "Student's hostels, but like I said, they almost all keep a couple of rooms for you Family kids. Back's got a couple of addresses of places exclusive for Family, too, if you prefer. " He gave Jared a sketch of a smile.

Jared nodded thanks, his cheeks burning as he took the ticket and the pamphlets. It was embarrassing to be spotted as Family so easily. And then to be reminded so soon he was less than. Well, he had two days to think about it, didn't he?

The ticket seller looked him up and down, a shrewd look to his eye. "Sandwiches and drinks sold out on the dock...just machine stuff, but not bad, really. Sandwiches are fifty cents, drinks ten. Okay? And...if you have some trouble, most of those student hostels got staff that'll help out, if you ask." The man looked troubled, and Jared suddenly understood that the man had some suspicions of his situation.

"Thank you so much, sir. I appreciate it." Jared blushed harder, clearly imagining what a pitiful sight he must make, with dirty clothes and his ratty knapsack. Hungry was one thing he wasn't. But embarrassed? Plenty.

The man just humphed, not unkindly, and waved Jared off. 

Jared clutched his ticket like it was his lifeline, and shuffled off to find whatever a sandwich machine was. He was quite surprised when he did find it—a glass box set into a metal cage, filled with packaged sandwiches, little bags of pre-cooked potato chips, slices of cake or cookies and even some fruit—apples, and pears. He stared at it, open-mouthed. This was a wonderful machine. For some coins, he could have fresh food, right to hand. His stomach rumbled, impatient for Jared to get to filling it. He peered at the sandwich machine, confused. Now what? 

A woman asked, "Are you in line, sweetheart?" Nice enough to ignore it was only him and her, and he was obviously at sea here. When Jared shook his head no, she patted his shoulder, and stepped around him. Going up to the machine, she pushed a few coins into a slot on the side of it, and then pointedly pressed a little bar under the item she wanted. Jared watched as the sandwich slid forward, dropped out of its section into a trough under the box. She retrieved the sandwich, giving him a rather nice smile as she passed.

"Brilliant," he muttered. "Food when you want it with no work to it…" he fingered the coins in his pocket and stepped forward. Each small box within the machine had a label under it. He read one of the labels, murmuring, "Cheese sandwich...fifty cents. Okay." 

Trying to do as the woman had done, he poked a bit at the slot before he managed to get it to take his coins, and then, his choice landed in the tray with a faint plop. _Amazing._ The sandwich was soft, which meant the bread wasn't stale, and slightly cool, so the machine must operate somewhat like the refrigerator his parents had. He shook his head in amazement, and put the sandwich in his bag, and when the bus five opened its doors, Jared followed the small group on board. He gave the driver his ticket to punch, and then chose a seat towards the rear, and settled down. It was nearly empty on the bus so he was alone, and glad about it. He slid down into the surprisingly comfortable seat, the back of it high enough to cradle his head, and let the motion of the bus lull him to sleep. 

When he woke up, it was dark, little lights overhead illuminating his seat. He wiggled a bit, biting his lip. Oh no, this was going to be bad. What was he going to do? Carrying around this thing was making his bladder shrink to the size of a pea—what was he going to do about emptying this annoyingly pea-sized thing…?

He noticed the lady who'd bought a sandwich earlier walk past his seat. She caught his eyes and gave him another motherly smile before opening a tiny door a few seats behind him that he'd not noticed before. It was marked private, and it was... _oh my._

A bathroom? On the bus? 

Sandwiches in coldboxes, bathrooms on buses—what else? He shook his head, absolutely floored by the differences that just kept flying at him. This world was...well, it was just amazing 

When he woke the next morning, there were many more people on the bus, and he'd lost sight of the nice lady. He wished he could tell her how much her small, simple kindness meant to him...but then he'd be driven to explain about himself, and it would just kill him to see horror in her eyes. So, he sent up a prayer asking for forgiveness—of course—and then asking the Lord to keep the lady safe, because she was a good person and had no idea who she was being nice to. 

He sat in his seat, surprisingly still alone, and nibbled at the slightly warm cheese sandwich. He sipped at what water he had left and wondered how long it would take. Outside the window, villages and forest gave way to towns, gradually to bigger towns. Leaning his head back to look at the sky, he caught sight of something not a bird moving through the clouds—a pair of airplanes! He's seen them, rarely, in Mountain Grove. They always had the look of some strange otherworldly thing to him, the way they cut through the sky like knives. Once, when his class had been out on the lawn during recess, a low-flying plane had swooped through the clouds, coming in so close he'd made out symbols painted on the underside of it. It had waggled its wings as if waving before soaring away again. Most of the little girls had screamed, so of course the boys had done their best to appear unimpressed, but it was something Jared had never forgotten. That, and the lecture after, of how man's hubris brought him down before and would again and there was to be no further talk of airplanes.

Apparently airplanes were of the devil. Jared sighed. That was something he knew too much about. 

=+=  
After another full day of travel, just as the sun was beginning to set, the bus came to its final destination. 

Nice. _Niii-kee._ His face was plastered to the window, staring up at the looming walls, the slivers of sky, airplanes weaving in and out of the towers like blue jays protecting their nests. Jared was sure that the people around him must be used to the sight of the city sprawling—everywhere, but the whole bus went quiet as it made its way through the valleys of of stone and glass. Everything was gray: the buildings, the few trees, the sidewalks, the roadway—the sky. The air felt wet and low overhead, smelling of snow on its way. 

He stumbled out of the bus along with the other passengers, taking care not to hit anyone with his knapsack. He reached the boarding platform, turned towards the street—and froze. 

"Oh...gosh." Seeing it from behind glass didn't prepare him for the actual, living, breathing, stinking city. It was _loud!_ The sound seemed to echo back and forth in the valley of buildings; horns, tires squealing, people shouting, people _everywhere!_ Running, walking, yelling out to each other and Jared couldn't tell if they were angry or excited or happy. _Outsiders._

He didn't care if gawping about clearly marked him as a rube, a hayseed, or whatever it was city people called country mice—it's what he was. But not forever. He hiked his knapsack higher onto his shoulder and unlike the mousy steps he 'd taken into the first station, here he strode into the bus station with his head high, but slowed to a stop in the doorway. Here he was, finally in Nice. But what now? Where did he go, what did he do? 

People coming in and out eventually pushed him to the side, where he stood uncertainly, his fingers nervously picking at the frayed strap of his bag. A kiosk to one side caught his interest and he realized there were maps tucked into pockets on its side— _free_ maps. He sidled over and grabbed a handful, and promptly dropped them. _Oh my Lord…._

A man with thin, angular features, long hair, much longer than his, passed him by. That's not what drew Jared's eye, not that, and not the man's milk-pale skin; not his ice-blue eyes—it was the high, round belly bowing out a flowing shirt framed by the heavy wool coat he wore. The shirt caught Jared's eye—it was an odd piece of clothing, not quite a shirt, not quite a blouse…..

Open-mouthed, Jared followed the man's progress across the busy station with his eyes. He really wasn't too, too much older than Jared, maybe eighteen, nineteen...twenty at most. Maybe four or five years older...he could feel the blood rush out of his face, at the same time, his knees went watery with a wave of nausea. A young woman jostled him, and snapped, "Stop blocking the way, and God's sake, stop staring. Everyone has a right to live their lives without people like _you_ trying to make them feel small!"

She pushed past him, and Jared gulped, shut his mouth and hoped he wasn't as red as he felt. So, that was a carrier. _He_ was a carrier. And no one was saying anything, no one was condemning him, or shunning him...there were a few looks, curious, mostly, and yes, one or two wrinkled noses, but no one said anything as the tall, skinny, and highly pregnant man bought a hot drink and a little paper bag of some sort of food, and headed towards a small grouping of tables near the waiting benches. He sat with a sigh of relief, and nibbled at whatever it was he'd bought and Jared just couldn't get over how...normal it seemed. He shook his head, and took a seat himself, on the opposite side of the room. He had this strange feeling that if he sat next to that person, it would make his own situation seem realer, and he wasn't ready for that, not yet. 

He opened one of the maps, and studied it as best he could. Alright then. He was in the city. Alone. He had a small amount of money, and not much food. He needed a place to stay, he needed information and-and _gobnaw—_ a darn doctor. 

Wait. Did all Outside doctors know how to handle a person who had his affliction? Or where there...special doctors? And holerah, why couldn't those books about carriers have been more informative instead of just really naughty? He sneaked a look over at the tall carrier, and just his luck, was caught. The man gave him a narrow-eyed, very unhappy look. Jared dropped his eyes, feeling his cheeks go red again. Wonderful, the only other carrier he'd ever seen thought he was being an ass. Well, there was no way he was going to explain or ask questions. He concentrated on the map in his hand like it held the secrets to—everything. 

One small cup of caffee and a buttered roll later, he found addresses for a library, a school, and police station. One of those places would hopefully be of help to him, if he could find them. 

He ended up falling asleep on a bench, head cushioned on his lumpy knapsack, until in the wee hours of the morning, a station guard woke him and ushered him out onto the street. He wandered around in the night, marveling at how much light there was everywhere. A large, lit clock on a building told him it was two am, and he felt staggered by that. He'd never been about at two in the morning. It felt odd, scary, and kind of liberating too. People were walking the streets like it was daytime, some in uniforms, cleaning, collecting garbage bins. People were opening the front of what looked like stalls, great iron walls with doors that rolled up like blinds. The iron walls were dotted with bright, light-filled signs advertising...Jared had no idea, actually.

What he knew very well was that his nose was being teased by wafts of some delicious scents now, faintly on the chilly breeze—caffee, oh, _caffee,_ and pastries and...he inhaled like he was trying to bring the whole world to his face. 

"Oh. Bacon…" he let out the breath on a sad sigh. He probably couldn't afford much more than caffee. 

Large electric trucks hummed past him, making the ends of his scarf flutter—bales of newspaper were thrown from some of them, splat-splat against the damp concrete. Some trucks delivered crates of food to what Jared guessed were stores, maybe...hotels? So many different, colorful, fascinating items. He itched to find out what they were, and then felt guilt for wanting to know. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes, studied the map again, and took off, hopefully in the right direction.

Despite the sun hinting at rising, the air was colder now. So far, his luck was holding—it hadn't snowed. But what was most important at the moment was food. He needed to eat. The Thing demanded food constantly, and it wasn't above punishing him for not feeding it. The yawning, queasy pit that opened in his stomach whenever he was slow at feeding it was more than enough incentive to crouch some where and...ugh. Open another can of cold beans. 

He dashed across one of the less busy streets, his sack banging uncomfortably into his aching back, ending up wandering past another series of those stalls full of odd and interesting things—and food. These stalls weren't all made of iron; those that were, were rust streaked, their paint peeling off in strips. Some stalls were little wooden half-shacks that looked jumbled together. People crowded up around them—people who were dressed more like he was, in worn and dirty clothes—no woolen coats or brass buttons in this section of the city. 

The tight-packed stalls and busily milling people made for precarious passage, but Jared quickly got the hang of moving through them—if he pretended he was pushing through a flock of sheep, it was easier. Along the way, he discovered that the wooden stalls served much cheaper food than the metal stalls. He supposed he should be suspicious of the lower cost, but beggars couldn't be choosy—Lord be kind, he hoped it would never come to that. 

It _wouldn't_ come to that. He wouldn't allow it, he'd do anything before begging in the streets…. 

A quarter bought Jared a thick, vegetable-heavy soup—in a paper cup, of all things—from one tiny stall; the two boys working there stared at him as curiously as he stared at them, with their almond eyes and ivory skin—nothing like Family, at all. They spoke to him in a heavily accented English that sounded musical. He thanked them as he paid, and the two boys grinned at each other. Jared grinned back—why not? He knew they found his Family-style clothing and his saggy hat funny. In this city, he stood out as something funny. He shrugged and walked away, their laughter forgotten as he threw himself heart and soul into savoring his soup. 

The constant din focused his thoughts on something else besides how he was not fitting in—it was really rather overwhelming the way everything gave off noise—the stalls blurted music or news, there was a flood of voices all around him—even from overhead, tinny and mechanical, and a bit scary. 

Busy fishing chunky bits out of his soup to chew on, he wasn't paying much attention to where his feet carried him. He looked up to a throbbing glow coming from farther down the street, and came out on an avenue twice as wide as the ones he'd been wandering. He gasped at the sight, at how bright the night suddenly was. So much color, so much light! 

It was overwhelming. He stood on the corner, his soup forgotten as he stared open-mouthed at the visual cacophony. Seemed as though every building was covered with moving, talking, pictures; kiosks grew out of the streets, talking and blaring light at him as well. It took him a bit to orient himself, but it wasn't long before he was strolling along again, slurping soup and actually beginning to enjoy the chaos. It was rather entertaining, he decided, the bright, vibrant colors lighting up the sky, and the music, and discovering some pictures were exciting pantomimes full of noise and action—some were plain silly and made him laugh despite not knowing what they were about. 

Time passed—day was breaking in earnest and still no shelter. Maybe he should just find an officer of the law, and ask them for help. He figured it couldn't be good for himself or the Thing to be wandering around still, he needed sleep. He needed to get warm. And unbelievably, he could eat again. Settling his baggy hat and tightening his scarf, he slipped his mittens back on. He'd just have to resign himself to sleeping under the stars again—or what passed for stars in the city. 

He walked slowly, longingly, past a stall that was lined with books, all sorts of colorful, paper-covered books. He was so entranced by the idea of so many books so freely to be had, he nearly walked past a food stand without noticing. His nose stopped him though, sort of tapped him on the shoulder and whispered, _Smell that?_

He looked to see what they had and what he could afford, and saw a tasty-looking assortment of breakfast pastries, and also met the eyes of a man sitting on one of the stools in front of the stand, leaning an elbow on the counter and drinking something that steamed and smelled good, like blackberries and honey. 

The man was very handsome, with beautiful eyes framed by long, long lashes. A smile dimpled his cheeks, so cheery and mischievous, that Jared couldn't help smiling back, though he kept walking—there was nothing at this stand he could afford. 

He slowed somewhat when the man called out to him. "Excuse me, hello, excuse me!" 

Jared turned back cautiously; this was the city after all, and he knew about the evil that lurked behind a pleasing facade. He looked the man over. A really, really pleasing facade.

"I wonder if you could help me," the man said. "Seems they've accidentally given me one cup of tea too many and I'd hate to waste it. Won't you do me a favor?" The man tilted his head as he held the "extra" cup up, and a fall of dark brown hair slid over his eyes in a sweet, puppyish way. 

Jared laughed. "Does that often work for you?" he shocked himself by blurting, and the man—not all that much older than him, really—laughed right along with him. 

"I'd say almost never," he grinned, wide and unrepentant. "Are you going to make it the rare time it does?"

Jared waffled, worried but really, really desiring that tea, and then the fellow had the nerve to make things even more difficult. 

"It seems that not only have they given me too many cups of tea, but they've also given me a breakfast omelet I didn't even order." 

The girl behind the counter rolled her eyes, dropped a roll of napkin-wrapped flatware on the counter and walked away to deal with another customer. 

Jared shook his head, but climbed up onto the stool next to the man anyway, settling his knapsack at his feet. The man grinned even wider as he held his hand out to Jared. Said, "Phil. You?"

"Jared. Are you sure…" he tilted his chin towards the plate and Phil chuckled. 

"Positive. Eat up, sweetheart. You look like things haven't been exactly been going your way lately."

It only took that little bit of off-hand kindness for Jared to tear up. He bit his lip hard and blinked frantically, mortally embarrassed of crying in front of this man. 

"Hey, hey, don't worry about it, sweetheart. All of us have been there at one time or another. It's okay. It was like that with me too, when I first came to the city. Got off the bus, alone-alone-o, and had to learn real fast how to make my own way. So go on, now—go 'head and eat."

Jared sighed, and unrolled his fork from its napkin. He took a tentative bite of the omelet. It was—different. Thick, spicy, filled with tomatoes and onions and peppery things and cheese and he loved it. He practically inhaled it, then demolished the plate of toast that had magically appeared while he was dedicating his life to the omelet, and then...bacon. Thin, crunchy strips of wonderful salty, greasy, goodness. 

Phil watched him all the while, his pale green eyes were sparkling with what Jared figured was laughter. And why not. He'd laugh too if he found himself side by side with a food-sucking, ugly-hat wearing, smudgy, beanpole of a waif. But when he really looked at Phil, his eyes were warm, and there wasn't a hint of laughter there at all. 

Jared made the tea vanish, and then, hesitantly asked for, and received, a steaming cup of caffee. 

He drank down one cup, and then another, while Phil told him about the way it was for him coming up in a small town, by the sound of it smaller than Mountain Grove even, and insular, just like Mountain Grove. Still drenched in the old ways, ignoring one hundred years of progress. 

"Oh," Jared gasped. "That's—I'm on my own for the same reason," he said, feeling a bit of kinship with this handsome, warm stranger. "I don't know if you know anything about the Family—" 

"I do. So, they exiled you for deviancy, eh?"

"I. Yes. And...and one other thing." His arms automatically wrapped around his middle, more to hide than protect, and Phil's eyes went wide, the green flashing to gray.

"Oh! Carrier, are you—oh my, are you—?" 

He made a motion with his hand that Jared squinted at. Rolling? Nauseous? "Are you asking me if I'm...carrying? Now?"

Phil grinned even wider. "Are you? A lot of people think that's really, really sexy, you know. Lots."

"They do? Hunh." He huffed at Phil's enthusiastic nod. "World's a weird old place, I guess," Jared muttered, and sipped at what was left of the caffee. He was grateful beyond compare. He was full, and after the third free re-fill, his addiction was satisfied, and he still had food in his knapsack. Lucky, for the moment, he thought. 

"Do you drink coffee like that all the time?" Phil asked. "Because you might want to switch to Sanka, instead." 

At Jared puzzled look, he opened his mouth, but closed it again. "I'll explain another time. So, care to stroll around with me? The sun is high, and the city is wide awake now. I'd like to keep your company a little while longer. And I'm thinking you don't have anyplace else to go, do you?" 

He looked at Jared from under his bangs, mouth pursed in concern and Jared shivered. He shook his head. "No, I'm...it's been a long time since I've even talked to anyone. As for a place to go, I'm looking for a shelter. I have an address of one, but I can't figure out the streets. "

"Aw, poor kid," Phil said. He laid a finger on Jared's cheek, tapped softly and said, "I can help you find it. But you know, I think I have a better idea—if you're game?"

Jared peered at him, trying to get some sense of what Phil wanted. He hesitated, then nodded. He was lonely, and tired of being scared, and so, so tired of being alone. Jared hesitated just a handful of seconds when Phil got up and headed away from the cafe before scooping up his bag by one strap, and with a shrug, following him. He ambled down a long, narrow street, and Jared trailed after, but less and less enthusiastically. 

"Hurry up, will you? Jesus," Phil said and Jared frowned at the sharp edge to his tone and slowed a little more. He glanced around the street, the way it narrowed the further they walked in, the way they were increasingly flanked by shadows. Where was this supposed to lead them to?

"Where are you taking me, exactly?" he asked, coming to a full stop. 

Phil turned back to him, his eyes narrowed. "Oh, sweetheart, are you doubting me, and after I was so nice to you? I'm trying to take care of you, so...how about you let me?"

Jared started to back up, "I, unh, no, thank you, I think I'm going to head back to—"

Phil swung around and grabbed Jared's hand, giving it a hard yank. Being pulled at unbalanced the weight of his knapsack, nearly knocking Jared off his feet, then Phil shoved at him while he was trying to regain his footing, moving him back, back, until Jared collided painfully with one of the over-sized metal garbage bins. He hit so hard the bin thrummed like a bell, and rolled a few inches. The movement seemed to unleash a stench of decay that had him gagging. 

"Stop!" He gasped, trying not vomit on himself, and also to push the man off of him; Phil only huffed a laugh and shoved Jared again—this time slamming his head into the bin, knocking his baggy hat somewhere to the ground. 

"No!" Fear, lack of sleep, bad nutrition—it all worked against him. The world grayed out for a moment, and when he came back to himself, he was pinned against the metal wall. He woke all the way to rough hands tearing his scarf and coat open. 

Jared opened his mouth, meaning to shout—sudden, intense, pain shocked him into freezing. 

"Keep your slut mouth shut or next time, I'll knock you out." Phil slammed his forearm against Jared's throat, pinning him in place. He kept on yanking at Jared's clothes, managing to get his free hand up under Jared's sweaters, nails scrabbling painfully at the bare skin of Jared's chest. His knapsack was tangled at their feet, trampled as Jared tried to struggle against being pinned. The man's own pants were already open and Jared could see his rod, how hard it was, dark with blood. It jerked under Jared's gaze and he just cracked—burst into tears. He managed to gasp out, "But—I told you—I'm carrying!" 

Phil responded with a half-smothered, breathy laugh, and leaned even harder into Jared, grinding against him. "That's why I'm taking you home," he growled into Jared's neck. "You're gonna be a good little bitch for me. Lots of guys'll like you like this. You won't have to—" he forced a kiss on Jared, "worry about—" he pushed his knee between Jared's legs, "food, or a place to sleep—not when you belong to me. You'll be like this all the time..." 

The sudden, painful pressure on his rod made Jared yelp, and taking advantage, Phil shoved his tongue deep into Jared's mouth. 

Jared's gut tightened, the urge to vomit redoubled, while Phil ground into Jared, pinning him against the garbage bin. He forced Jared's thin wrists high over his head with one hand and with the other, grubbed for the buttons on Jared's trousers. 

"Open up, damn it, spread your fucking legs," Phil growled. 

Jared shook his head. "Leave me along, you glupig, you, you—" There was a crack, his cheek erupted in pain, the back of his head was on fire. 

"Shut the fuck up and do what I say, bitch." 

A hot rill spilled from his mouth, dripping over his chin; his eyes were streaming with tears, but not from fear, not now. Instead, a burning wave of absolute _rage_ rose up in him, ripping and tearing at the fear like a wild thing. 

This was not going to happen, not again, not ever again. He let himself go loose, and Phil smiled. Thinking he'd won, he loosened his grip. Jared shifted, managing to get a bit of distance between him and Phil. He pulled his head back—and spit a wad of saliva and bloody phlegm right into Phil's eyes. The man yelled in surprised anger and when he moved to hit Jared again, Jared kicked him dead center between his legs as hard as he could. He put all the feeling of every lousy, stinking thing that had happened to him since the holerah Runround that had sent his life into the—the— _crapper._

Phil dropped to the ground, open-mouthed but silent with the pain and the shock of his hand-picked, broken little bird fighting back. Jared snatched his knapsack up off the grimy ground, swinging it at Phil's head as he did. The couple of jars and cans left inside lent it weight enough to knock Phil flat. Jared bolted—jumping over his would-be pimp and running like his life depended on it—he was _certain_ his life depended on it. 

He wasted no time looking back—if the man was chasing him, he was lost already. He put every bit of the rage left in him towards running, and before he knew it, he was out of the narrow streets, back into wider boulevards. He turned right, and ran down another wider street, gasping for breath now. He dodged and weaved in and out of the crowds on the bigger, busy, _safer_ streets, ignoring shouts and curses, stumbled to avoid hands and feet. Feeling like swords pierced his sides with each step, his lungs were sheets of fire before he finally chanced a glance behind himself, and nearly collapsed in relief to see there was no there. 

=+=

Eventually his aching legs brought him to a park he wasn't sure was on the map, but looked welcoming, quiet despite it being noontime. It was a little overgrown, seemed to be mostly abandoned. Here and there people hurried through, trotting past him without notice on the cinder pathways. Sprawling bushes and skeletal trees dotted the somewhat bedraggled lawns, and here and there were haphazardly cared-for flower beds, stems brown and frozen crisp. He didn't 't care. Right at the moment, this looked like heaven. He re-wrapped his scarf, nose wrinkling at the smell. His beautiful red scarf was now a blotchy-gray and red, and his comforting hat was gone. He hated that he couldn't stop tears from escaping at the thought. He pictured his sister, sitting up in her tiny room and knitting industrially away by lamplight...making a gift just for him….

Jared shook his head—hard. He was sick of being such a crybaby. It wasn't like anyone cared, not about a thing like him. He was past being cared for. He dashed at the tears so roughly, he reopened a few scrapes on his cheek, and smeared blood though the wet tracks on his face. Wonderful, he thought. _Bet now I look as monstrous as I am._

Wandering aimlessly through the small park, a bit of luck brought him to a fountain whose water looked clear enough. He knelt on the edge, and despite how cold it was, dashed a scant handful of the water into his face to clean it as best he could. And then, he walked and sat, walked and sat, moving from one end of the park to the other until nightfall, too afraid to head out to the streets again. His brain told him chances of meeting up with the monster again were probably tiny in this huge city, but his heart insisted he hide, hide, hide. 

By the time he found a corner of the park he felt would be safe enough to stop in for the night, Jared was staggering with exhaustion. He pulled his knapsack around to his front and rolled under one of the benches there. He wrapped his scarf around his head and neck to try and save some warmth, shook and squeezed his knapsack until it was comfortable enough to rest his cheek on. It felt like the minute he laid his head down, everything, every bit of his horrible day, caught up with him at once. He heaved a sigh, and in the next minute he passed out. 

_Scrape-scrape—_ at first he thought he was dreaming the odd sound until something tugged softly, stealthily, at his pack. Still mired between sleeping and waking, his first action was to sweep a fist through the air. Jared grunted in surprise when he connected—solidly—with something squishy. 

"Oh, crap, what the hell?"

He woke completely, his hands already pulling his pack in tight against him. Blinking sleep out of his eyes, he made out the blurry outline of a man—boy—a boy, about his age maybe, rubbing his nose and glowering at him. The relief that it wasn't _that_ man almost made him cry—but he raised his chin and glared at the boy pointed at him.

In an aggrieved tone of voice, the boy asked, "What'd ya hit me for, you asshole?" Blue eyes bored into Jared's, pooched lips quivering like this boy was a harmless innocent caught up in some awful situation beyond his ken.

"Oh, please," Jared huffed. As the old farmers said, _'I might have been born at night, but not last night.'_ He crawled out from under his bench, resettling his scarf. "You were stealing from me! Or trying to," he snapped, mostly feeling affronted that this knapsack thief was actually trying to make _him_ out to be the bad guy.

The boy glared back, narrowed blue eyes flicking over Jared until his expression changed abruptly from aggrieved to friendly, amused even. "Well, yeah, that's true," the boy said, without the slightest trace of guilt. "You got food in there?"

"Some canned beans," Jared said and the boy made a face like Jared had admitted to having canned rats. "Well, must not be too hungry then," Jared said, again feeling oddly insulted his beans were rejected so out of hand.

"Eh. There's a restaurant down the block, guy there'll give you food for a handjob, sometimes. It's still early and I don't gotta work yet."

"You have a job?" Was this handjob a place that did piece work? If it was, maybe the boy could help get Jared a job as well. His treasure money was dwindling faster than he'd expected.

The boy shrugged again. "Yeah, kinda. It's work, I get paid. I got my own corner, me and a couple others."

"But if you have a job, why'd you try to steal from me?"

"Look, it's plain you're a virg; runaway or somethin'? You're a big ole walkin' sign just asking to be rolled. Lucky it was me—anyone else would've shived you for punchin' em like that." He went quiet and looked Jared up and down. "You're a good looking kid. With a haircut and some half-decent togs, you'd make a pretty good piece out here. C'mon, you gotta get somewhere safer to sleep. I know just the place."

Jared followed him because despite trying to steal his pack, the boy seemed okay—anyway, there was something about him that made Jared believe him. Despite having given a horrible first impression. 

The boy hawked loudly, spit a disgusting wad of something that just missed Jared's foot, and smiled. Kept on giving a horrible impression, actually. 

Jared rolled his eyes at the boy, but couldn't help a tiny grin. This boy was definitely what his—his—what the old farmers called _a card._ Shaking his head, Jared followed behind him through a maze of filthy, dark alleys, and felt gratitude towards him grow. He knew already that it was dangerous to be alone in the city like he'd been, but watching the boy and how deftly he dodged and turned and crept along, keeping to the shadows, Jared thought he understood even more now, just how dangerous a place the city was. 

=+=

Jared nearly passed out when he realized what the boy had meant by _handjob._ Watching from his corner behind a tall stack of wooden pallets, he did his horrified best to become invisible. The boy had pushed him there, then walked over to the middle one of a series of doors, banged on it with both fists. Someone came out, and there was a hurried, harshly whispered conversation that Jared couldn't catch and then—the boy jammed his hand down the man's—the much older man's—pants, and jerked up and down with a look of indifference, until the guy shivered and moaned. The boy's face flicked from indifference to disgust, faster than the older man could see. Or maybe the man didn't care what the boy thought. He did give the boy a bag though; snatched it up from the floor just inside the open door, then tossed it and a couple of cigarettes at him, as well as some paper, before slamming the door shut. 

The boy scrubbed his hand vigorously with the paper, balled it up and tossed it over his shoulder before turning back to Jared, wide smile and a wink making him look suddenly much younger. 

They shared the still-warm food; Jared was surprised at how much the man had actually given the boy. While they ate, the boy explained how another older guy who lived elsewhere was his protector. 

"See, all I gotta do is show up, work, and then give him part of the money at the end of the night. We all share a coupla rooms down the road here, but sometimes I sleep rough 'cause I just need to breathe...anyway, he's okay. Make your quota and he leaves you pretty much on your own, yeah." The boy nodded. "So, yeah, we can go there and sleep if you like, but you should hide your bag first. Somebody might think you actually got something good in there and that could be trouble, Mr. Cannabeans."

"I just go by Jared. Less formal," he said, grinning when the boy burst out laughing. Jared fished a piece of spicy, thick-cut potato drenched in gravy out of the offered bag, and shoved it into his mouth, chewing quickly. 

He knew, at that moment, that he'd been insanely lucky to have been found by this boy. He also knew that there was no way ever he was going to the place where this boy slept. He had the feeling that once there, he'd never get out—he'd be under the thumb of some, some— _Phil._ The complete and utter certainty of it prickled over his spine like icy claws. "I...I..."

The boy squinted at him, a long, hard look that melted into a sigh. "Okay. Tell ya what, I know another place; let's head there."

Jared followed the boy on another maze-like route that took them deeper in the city, where the buildings seemed to squeeze even tighter and tighter together, blocking out the weak light of dawn and plunging them back into night.

They ended up in a narrow, dark, space between buildings, not an alley, just a spot that looked like it had been built around and forgotten; the paving under his feet felt slick and greasy. There were boxes and pallets and bins and the boy directed him to stop behind the largest bin. He walked off, but before Jared could get nervous, he was back, dragging some pieces of cardboard. "Found a pretty clean box an' broke it down. Don't ever sleep on the bare ground without something between you and it—it'll suck the warmth right outta your bones. People die that way. Anyway, this is it. Drop your pack. Steam grates behind the bins'll keep us warm." He stopped, lit one of the wrinkled cigarettes he fished out of a pocket and inhaled deeply. Letting out a dragon-sized plume of smoke, he held out his unoccupied hand. "Welcome to my secret palace. An' since I know your name, it's fair you know mine. Call me See'em." 

"Sam?"

"Nah," he said, and repeated slowly, "See. Em. But don' worry 'bout it, you ain't gonna need to say it much."

They slept in See'em's hide-away in the pitch-black, almost directly on top of a grate that blew warm air all night. It was odd, and sad, that he actually felt safer sleeping there than he had ever felt in the barn back home. In the morning, Jared split a jar of peaches with See'em. The boy licked his fingers clean, staring at Jared as he did, blue eyes searching his. With a final suck, and a perfunctory swipe of his hand across his pant leg, he said, "You're not coming with me, are you?"

Jared was reluctant to tell the crude, but somehow oddly sweet boy no, but he shook his head; See'em sighed. "You got somethin' in mind?"

"I need to get to a library, I guess. Or a police station?"

"Oh, hell no, no goin' to some flatfoot who's gonna either ship you off to the farm or take it out of you for free. We'll get you to the bookdump. Ain't you got a map in that bag?"

Jared gaped at him. "How do you know about my map?"

"Eh, don't worry 'bout it. You got a pencil?" He squatted down next to Jared, and took the pencil he was offered. He sketched out a route to the library. "There. It's not even far."

Jared thanked See'em, and before they parted, gave him the last jar of peaches. "Seemed like you liked them." he said, blushing and hoping he hadn't read the boy wrong.

See'em just grinned, again breaking Jared's heart by looking years younger; grimy, sweet and too innocent to be on the street alone. Of course it was an illusion, but still.... 

"Gee, thanks! I don't get a chance for something sweet all that often, fuckin' Wade is always yelling at us not to eat too much or get too big—bastard. Good luck, J. You keep bein' a good boy, this life'a mine ain't for you, I can see it. You'll do fine, I'm betting on you."

He gave Jared a lightening quick hug, and ran off, leaving Jared alone—and feeling lonely. He wished See'em hadn't had to leave, it had felt darn good to talk to another human being. Jared wished...he shrugged. Well, it'd been nice while it lasted. As long as it could last. 

He looked after the spot See'em had disappeared into; hearing him say _Good luck, Jay._ "Jay," he whispered. He rather liked it. _Jay._ He smiled to himself and started walking in the direction See'em had pointed him in.


	9. Jared studied the street signs like Miss Bartnik was going to test him on them.

=+=  
Jared studied the street signs like Miss Bartnik was going to test him on them. His legs felt like wobbly pillars of aching muscle by the time he walked into through library doors, terribly aware that he was grimy, and sweaty, and long past anything like fresh. 

The first few steps inside, the warm air filling his nose with the wonderful scent of books and old wood made him want to drop to his knees and give thanks for the chance to experience such a miracle. It was...heaven must be a little like this, he thought. The ceilings were sky high, they were even painted a bright, sky- blue. The dark stone floors sparkled with bits of light—quartz, he knew, but if he let his imagination go, he was standing on a night sky full of stars. A three-step flight of dark wood stairs led to a slightly higher level that cut the huge lobby in half. One long side of that level was taken up by a counter, the same deep, chocolate-tinted wood as the stairs and the walls. It turned out to be the librarian's desk, but triple the size of the one at home, stacked with books and papers, and machines he didn't recognize. There were telephones, too, a lot of them, and typing machines just like the one that sat next to the phone at the post office back home—but certainly fancier, definitely newer. He admired the stream-lined shape of it, the pleasant mint green and cream color. Boy, they had nothing like that back home at..he dropped his head. He really needed to stop saying _back home._

He wandered around the looming stacks of books, past shelf after shelf of all sorts of books, and as far as he could tell, no one was wandering the shelves ready to forbid the reading of certain books. It appeared there was freedom to look at and take whatever was available, and that was a huge, almost frightening idea—but oh, the excitement he felt. His fingers twitched just looking at the long, long shelves filled with treasures. 

After a bit, he found, to his relief, that the books were arranged exactly like they were back at Mountain Grove; the same system cataloged them. Now, he just needed to find out what he had to do to take books out. 

=+=  
Walking around and around the shelves eventually brought him to a narrow hallway; to the right of the hall's entrance was a sign pointing towards the restrooms. and Jared nearly cried for joy. Maybe he could sneak in and wash up some—wouldn't that be wonderful! 

In the restroom, the very large, very clean restroom, there were metal boxes that dispensed paper napkins, big square sheets of them, and there were little bottles full of soap, handily attached to the walls. His eyes teared up at the thought of smelling less of himself. He looked around and see he was alone, quickly dropped his bag to the floor. He grabbed a handful of the napkins, wet them in hot water and added dashes of the very nice smelling soap—smelt a bit like honeysuckle. He whipped off his shirt and quickly as he could, washed everything he could safely expose, then scrubbed his face and behind his ears. He took a fresher shirt from his bag to put on, rolled up the dirty one and shoved it in the bottom. There was more room in it now the beans and peaches were gone. His worry about his disappeared stores faded as he brushed his teeth, almost groaning with the pleasure, then filled his hands with water and wiped them through his hair. 

Jared leaned against the sinks, and took a deep breath, before pulling himself upright again, rubbing water out of his eyes. He smiled a little, because for the first time in _days_ he felt truly human. 

For all of ten seconds, before catching sight of his not very flat stomach in the mirrors. He shook his head in disgust. Days and days went by and the Thing never crossed his mind. But then, he'd be reminded that, yes, this had happened to him and soon, he'd have to buckle down and figure out what to do...he sighed, and knuckled the slight swell over the top of his pants, before ruthlessly tucking his shirt in. 

He finished buttoning his shirt, then pulled a sweater from his bag, dragging it over his head. It was long and baggy, a "borrow" from Mr. Jim Beaver. He smoothed it down over his torso, smiling in the mirror at the bright—very bright—colors, and marveled again over Mr. Beaver's interesting taste. It really was a shame that he'd never get to know the man. After living in his cabin, and wearing his clothes, he felt rather oddly close to him, like they'd get on real well if they met.

Buttoning his coat, Jared debated re-wrapping the scarf around his neck but decided against it. It still smelled a little bit, and besides it was warm in the library; he'd wait until he left before wrapping himself up again. 

Back out in the shelves, he found a seating area that was small, cozy, with some comfortable chairs and tables set up. Old men read newspapers as they smoked, flicking clumps of ashes into saucers set atop the tall, thin pedestals near each heavy leather chair. He wrinkled his nose at the smell—cigarettes and pipes were not the same—pipes had a scholarly smell; cigarettes just stank. He stood there in the wide doorway, his grimy pack at his feet and an an errant drop of water rolling down his nose and making it itch. Really though, who was he to be so choosy? After all, between the stink of him versus the stink of cigarettes—which one was worse? 

The steadily downward spiral of his thoughts were interrupted by a small, soft cough behind him, and when he swung around, he found a woman in clothing so severe, so unlike the wild variety of clothing he'd seen so far, that he first thought she was Family. 

She looked him over seriously before nodding briskly, and handed him a piece of paper. There was an address written on it in clear block letters. She said, very quietly, "There's a clean, fairly comfortable shelter, on Thirty-first, not far from here at all. I would very much advise going there tonight. Most kids don't want to—they complain that the folks at this shelter are kind of preachy. " 

Jared looked at her askance. With her dull gray suit—or uniform?—and the name-tag on her chest lending the only bit of color, she looked just like the type of person who preached. 

She tilted her head up to him, reminding him of a tiny, gray sparrow. "The thing is, there are a variety of services to be had there, healthy food at least, and I think you know it's bound to be safer than the street. If you need help—any kind of help—someone at our front desk will be happy to assist you. I believe there is still fruit at the desk as well."

That was all she said. She didn't ask if he wanted the police, she didn't ask how he came to be there, or what a kid who was obviously Family, with his boots and coat and the way his hair was cut marked him out to be, was doing on his own in the city? Was the whole of the Outside this unconcerned with who or what people were? Or was this just what Nice was like? 

He shook his head. A puzzle for another day. 

He spent almost the whole day researching, trying to find out what was possible for a boy in his situation to do. He found that being pregnant, a carrier and thrown out of his community actually made him eligible for a rather wide variety of assistance programs. With any luck, someone at the shelter would help him navigate the maze of information. 

Jared leaned back in his chair, kneading the small of his back. It seemed he might even be able to go to school...but. First things first. He needed to arrange a safe place to sleep. 

And maybe grab an apple. 

He sidled up to the long desk, looking for the fruit that had been promised, and was distracted by a strange machine—a blocky, cream-colored box, humming and groaning and sort of squealing softly as a librarian typed swiftly on a keyboard attached to it. It was a puzzling contraption, certainly a very different kind of typing machine, and what was the purpose of the little window...or no, not window. It almost looked like a moving drawing, green lines on black. He shook himself out of his tumbling thoughts and turned attention to the woman also sitting there, also dressed in a severe gray uniform, though the colorful scarf tied at her neck helped to soften the look. He found himself returning her smile. 

"Hello. I was told that I could get a piece of fruit?"

"Of course, sugar. Help yourself. Oh, and here's a cookie for Valentines day." She smiled wide and bright, and handed him a large, heart-shaped cookie decorated with stripes of white and red frosting.

"Valentine's day?" He had no idea what that meant, but he was glad it was...whatever day it was. The cookie was really delicious.

After the _Valentine's day_ cookie, and two apples, he headed out to find the shelter. It took him quite a while; there was something to see everywhere. Unlike the other streets he'd been on, he recognized the items here: books and books and books, furniture of different sorts, rugs, clothing, and even groceries—there were things offered for sale _everywhere,_ along with things he couldn't puzzle out, but was dying to understand.

Amazing. Outsiders must have _so_ much money, he thought. There was so much to be had. What in the world did they do with it all?

=+=  
Hoping he was close to where the shelter should be, he stopped at a stall whose sign announced it was _The Milk Bar,_ to ask for directions. Or that was his intention. When he stepped into the **U** shaped stall, he realized that it was selling more than milk.   
On one side of the **U** there was a mostly neglected, short counter selling ice-cream. It boggled his mind that there were so many flavors, though as cold as it was, he couldn't imagine wanting an ice-cream. The other side of the **U** was a counter that sold warm pretzels and cookies, steaming in the chilly air. The longer, back-end of the **U** was a long, brightly colored, very popular counter. People crowded against it, calling out orders to the harried-looking workers rushing back and forth behind the counter. Overhead was a long sign, advertising the counter's goods. By the looks of it, it was caffee—but what a bewildering assortment of caffees there was. 

The sign promised peppermint and butterscotch and vanilla and chocolate and—it just seemed like _dozens_ of flavors. Gathered on one end of the counter were pump bottles filled with syrup. Behind the counter, mysterious machines hissed and steamed, performing some arcane something. The air was filled with the wonderful smells; it was as if some evil genius had married caffee with candy and Jared could only see that as fantastic—magical, even. Pushing carefully through the crowd, he made his way to the counter, and watched a young girl fill an over-sized cup with caffee, then hot milk, then she pumped syrup of some type into the cup, once, twice, three times at the customer's urging.

Jared's jaw dropped in amazement. It smelled like pumpkin pie. And _then,_ the girl topped it all off by dropping a dollop of frothy white cream onto it. She tapped the brim of her cap as she slid the cup over the counter with a wide smile. "One whipped pumpkin spice—enjoy!"

_Heaven._ Forget the library— _this_ was truly the gate to heaven. Until he saw the prices, and his heart crashed. Each flavor added five cents to the price of the caffee!

So, heavenly caffee-- _C-o-f-f-e-e,_ according to the sign, was beyond his means. A plain old cup of regular caffee at twelve cents, now, that was within his reach. He discovered to his surprise when he carefully asked for "a regular coo-ffee, please" that meant a caffee with milk and sugar. Well, all right then. Before, he'd only had caffee sweet and sugary when they'd all worked hard during foaling season—sometimes they'd be up all night long and it was his mother's contention that hard work required the extra sugar for energy. Goodness knows, he never argued against it.

Jared smiled down into the milky swirl in his cup—until memory brought pain as well, so he blinked the images of family away to concentrate on this moment; the chill breeze whisking around the stall, his nose buffeted by different delicious smells, tightly held coins digging into his palm. _Right._

Today, he'd start with a regular, he decided, then he'd somehow save some money and go from there. He squinted at the board. There had to be twenty different kinds of milks and coffees and cocoas, and he would try each and every one of those flavors, eventually. Glancing at the few coins in his hand, rolling them around in his palm, he thought _Sure. Someday..._ he snorted; was startled into gasping when someone poked his shoulder. 

"Here you go, kid. The coffee's ten cents, and the milk and sugar, penny apiece."

A stern-looking older man, wearing a suit jacket and a colorful tie, crooked a finger at him. Jared guessed he must be the stall owner, he had the look of being in charge. The man shoved one of the sturdy little paper cups the city seemed to love towards him, and Jared picked it up carefully so as not to burn himself. It turned out to be as thick and sturdy as the soup cups, and the heat seeped pleasantly into his hands. The milk and sugar were just the right touch to an already good cup of caffee. Sipping it, Jared felt himself relaxing bit by bit.

He'd had some awful days, but here, today, there were things to be grateful for. He was mostly clean. He had his caffee—caw-fee—and despite it being an extra ten cents, he even treated himself to a doughnut—lunch and dinner, he guessed. And not least, he was almost certain he'd have a safe place to sleep tonight. If not...he'd noted that the library was open all night. 

He took another sip of his delicious coffee and sighed. So far, the Lord hadn't smote him—he was beginning to think maybe the Lord wouldn't. After all, anything was possible.

The stern man was still looking at him, so Jared gave him a little sketch of a wave and a tentative smile. "Excuse me sir, I'm looking for a shelter, I think it's somewhere on this street?"

The man's expression went from stern to startled. "Oh! Oh, well, unh...there's St. Maggie—Margaret's, I mean—about a half block from here as the crow flies...you sure that's where you want to go, though?"

Jared assured him that, yes, he did want to go there, and the man shrugged, frowning slightly. He eyed Jared up and down, and then seemed to decide—something. With a firm nod, he reached in his jacket pocket and flipped a ten-cent piece to Jared. "Nup. Keep it," he said when Jared tried to refuse it. "Those were day-old donuts anyway," he smirked.

Jared blushed deeply, partly from embarrassment, partly because a stranger was once again being kind to him. Outsiders...he smiled at the old man and ducked his head, and wasn't quite sure, but thought he might have heard a chuckle. 

He definitely heard a soft humming from somewhere. He looked around as it got louder and louder, until it finally clicked that the sound was coming from overhead. He looked up, blinking into the acid sunlight. Shading his eyes, he could just make out movement—"Oh my."

There were six small airplanes high in the sky, flying in formation, and back-lit by the sun. They chased each other, buzzing in and out of the towers in a way that reminded Jared of kittens at play. He watched them open-mouthed, and then gasped when high, high over head, he saw a...a thing completely outside his understanding. He knew that if it was on the ground it would be huge, easily twice the size of one of the massive buildings rising around him. How could something so gigantic stay in the air? How did it even _get_ into the air?

"It's the Three-city Base Craft, and all those small planes are connected to it. War games, I guess. Our fly teams keep in tip-top shape, they do." The stall owner waved, even though the planes had no chance of seeing him do so, and saluted them as well. "We Nicians thank you for your service!" 

He smirked at Jared, who flushed, sure he looked like the worse kind of rube, staring open-mouthed at the sky. "Never seen that before, hunh? Don't worry, those are the good guys—our soldiers. I mean, these are safe times, but they keep it that way, right?" 

Oh. They were flying soldiers, that's what they were, protecting the city. Jared sipped on the rich caffee and nodded. "Of course," he murmured, though he had only the barest idea of what the man was talking about. There was _so_ much he didn't know about this Outside. Where they at war? Or had they been at war? How could there be a war and the Elders not know? Or care? 

Jared sighed, and threw his empty cup into the receptacle the owner pointed him to, then another muttered 'thank you', grabbed his pack and headed out of the stall towards the shelter. He discretely crossed his fingers as he jogged up the walkway, praying with all his heart that the Lord wasn't going to take this moment to turn away from him, not when he really needed some sign that things would get bearable.


	10. The shelter was close—half a block's walk, just like the man said.

The shelter was close—half a block's walk, just like the man said. It was huge—a large main building with wings on either side. It was all gray brick, topped with a slate roof. On either side of the stairs to the double doors, brownish evergreens struggled to live. Cut into the stone over the doorway, in plain block letters, was a legend: _'St. Margaret's',_ and under that, in smaller letters, _'shelter the little poor ones.'_

Well, the Thing and he definitely qualified as poor ones needing shelter. 

Jared stood outside on the street for a little while, watching people go in and out and trying to gather the courage to walk in with them. None of the people coming out of the imposing building looked frightened or furious or especially preached at...besides, the librarian had said it was safe; sure to be safer than the street, anyway….

He pulled his shoulders back and walked in, trying to fix a confident expression on his face.

It was busy inside the building, so much activity and so very loud. Tile walls and stone floors amplified the noise: women chatting together, some loud, some softly; babies crying, children babbling. The lobby was lined with chairs, filled by all women it seemed. Little ones of all different ages sat or roamed about, as well. In one corner, some worn books and toys were scattered across an area marked out by a rug. Older children watched the younger ones at play—they all seemed remarkably well-behaved for their ages. 

Jared walked past them, feeling a quick stab of home-sickness, wondering for a second how his little scholars were doing—probably all being taught Mr. Jared was the devil. He sighed, and continued on to the reception desk, too aware of eyes on him as he did. 

The woman behind the desk looked up, weary eyes taking him in blankly at first, but then sharpening. "Family?" she asked, and grimaced at Jared's tentative nod. "Okay...umm...how did you come to be _here?"_ she asked, brow furrowed quizzically. She seemed confused and Jared didn't understand why. This was a shelter, after all, and he needed shelter. He tried to explain.

"Well, when my—when I was exiled." He stopped and took a shaky breath, closing his eyes for a second to ground himself before going on. "As far as my community is concerned, I'm dead. But," he went on, ignoring her small exclamation of dismay, "I refuse to lay down and die like a good little boy. I'm here to try and make my way. I can't do that alone. And I'm not going to—to—do what my friend suggested. With...with strangers. It's dangerous and stupid, and I am not." Jared bit his lip to shut himself up. Holerah—this was a place that _believed,_ maybe not in the same way he did, but they put faith in the Lord, and the Lord was against everything that Jared was cursed to be, plus He was absolutely against prostitution and sex in general. Jared figured he'd probably just earned himself a boot out the door bringing up friends who sold hand-jobs for food. 

But the woman just nodded and said, "Well, that's good, and you're very, very brave. And smart. But this is a shelter for women with children or pregnant women with no other place to—oh." she wound down into silence. Her cheeks pinked up, and she murmured, "I see."

Jared could see the overwhelming sympathy on her face before it disappeared into the professionally-interested expression she'd been wearing when he'd first began to speak. Somehow, that was way less embarrassing than sympathy.

"Well. I see that you truly had no recourse. While we've had very, very few carriers here, it's not because we don't offer shelter to carriers as well. You know, let me take you through to the office." She stood, took his elbow, and led him behind her desk to a doorway that led to a short hall also lined with chairs filled with tired looking women. If he'd felt eyes on him before, he felt them even more intensely now—he swore he could feel flaming glares full of annoyance bouncing off his back. He ducked his head and followed the woman as quickly as he could. 

They ended up in a large room, which held another desk, with another woman behind it. This room had a distinctly different feel to it. Instead of black floors and mostly bare green wall, it was warm, cozy, and personalized with bright art on the walls and rugs on the floor and a small, pillow-accented couch under a window that let in the gray, afternoon light. 

"I think Jared needs a little more help than I can give him, Brit—do you mind?"

"Of course not. And thanks, Dorothy," she said as the woman waved and closed the door behind her. "So, Jared, yes? Let me introduce myself before we get some info here. I'm Mrs Stern, in charge of intake...do you mind filling out a bit paperwork for me? It's not much, really."

He shook his head and began filling out the simple form. Under _full name,_ he carefully printed out, 'Jared Tytus Padalecki', though for a lightning-quick moment, he wanted to scratch through his name, and print something brand new instead. He bit his lip, considering, and shook his head. _No._ The Elders had taken so much from him, they'd taken everything—they were not going to take his name, too.   
After filling out not much more than his name and age, he realized it was actually a literacy test more than anything else. He pushed the paper back across the wide desk when he was done, meeting and keeping the woman's eyes. She took the paper with a small, soft smile, like the two of them had just shared a joke. 

"So...Jared Tytus Padalecki," she murmured. "Bit of a mouthful, but strong, that. Family...sixteen years old." She stopped, frowning slightly as she peered at him, but went on. "Carrier...pregnant. Ah. Well, this is the place for you. We're only here to help you, not to judge. You've checked that you want to continue school, and that'd be fine. With Family, we usually test to see where you're actually at academically. No offense."

He shook his head. He was no fool. After spending this time in the city, he knew full well he was in no way on the same level as the people here. He'd kind of always known that, somehow. But his saving grace was that he was smart. It wasn't vanity to think so, it was an absolute fact, a true thing he knew about himself, but never really made a point of, not when his—not when it wasn't a thing much prized, back in Mountain Grove.

"Our building here—we own the whole thing—is set up for the different needs of our clients. There's a family hall, an apartment hall, and the hall for expectant mothers; girls who have no family to help them...and infrequently we have young boys who are carriers. I can tell you, we've never had a carrier who was Family before. It's...different. But that's all it is. We'll take care of you, help you get back on your feet, in whatever way you want. "

Jared nodded, staring at the single sheet of paper sitting on the middle of the desk. "So...what am I supposed to do next? And what about our...differences, I mean…" he trailed off. "Religious, I mean…."

"What we do next, Jared, is get you all signed in, get what information we can. As for religious differences, I don't want you to worry, Jared. Though St. Maggie's began as a religious-based mission, now we're mostly state-funded, and the state understands about Family and carriers and being exiled. You won't be abandoned again."

She asked Dorothy to send someone to take Jared to the dining hall for sandwiches while she started the paper-work, and by the time he came back from the dining hall, he was set up. 

Again, he signed his name to papers, and signed a paper that Mrs. Stern said would eventually help him to get back into school. He signed his name to a paper that she said would grant him medical help, and over and over, wrote, "Family" in all the slots for religion, nationality, citizenship...over and over he had to write _shunned_ by family and community, not even able to explain that he'd been shunned for eternity—a sentence an Outsider could never understand.

By the time he was done, he was emotionally wrung out, exhausted, teary-eyed, and his gut hurt. A headache pounded behind his eyes and when he looked up at Mrs. Stern, she reached across her desk and gently patted his hand. 

"Jared, let's get you settled into the emergency shelter room for tonight, okay? You look like you seriously need some shut-eye. I'll have someone bring you another sandwich and some water—sound good?" 

He nodded, unable to work up the strength or desire to speak. Dragging his knapsack up onto his shoulder, he followed Mrs. Stern down the narrow hall. Their footsteps echoed weirdly, snapping against the gray-streaked black tiles. The walls were bare, scuffed along the bottom near the floor. Nothing broke up the expanse of pea-green. It was a jarring contrast to Mrs. Stern's office, he thought, and it made him wonder why the rest of St. Margaret's seemed so...unwelcoming.

They went through a set of frosted glass doors, the kind that had wire in them, just like the doors on Mr. Dudek's milk barn, and since the wire doors were designed to stop curious heifers from pushing their way into places they didn't belong, it didn't inspire Jared with a a lot of confidence. What was he getting himself into, he wondered, not for the first time...some being preached-at he could take, he deserved it. But being locked in like milk cows...he shuddered. There was no way he'd survive that.

Jared was weaving on his feet as they went through one, two, three sets of these doors and finally, Mrs. Stern stopped. She unlocked a plain, beige door, swung it open to reveal a small, windowless room holding a bed barely bigger than a cot. She clicked on the lamp that was set on a blocky, brown nightstand, and pointed out a hook that Jared could hang his knapsack and coat on. Jared nodded, too tired to speak. Instead he just let both knapsack and coat drop to the ground where he stood.

"There's no closet because it's only meant to be a single night stay. As you can see, it leaves a lot to be desired for in terms of comfort. I'll see about getting you set up in the dorm tomorrow. We have an opening in a four-bed room with some very nice girls. You'll do fine. Now, there's a shower room two doors down. It's not attractive, but…" she shrugged, went on with a small smile, "it is clean. I'll have someone bring you towels and a hygiene pack. 

Jared tried not to shiver—a shower. A hot, clean-water _shower._ He tucked the edge of his thumb into his mouth, nipping at a ragged nail while he looked up at her. He nodded and thanked her, blushing at the intensity of his thanks, but she seemed to understand, just smiled and wished him a good night, shutting the door as she did. Even with the offer of a shower, Jared still listened fearfully for the sound of the lock turning, but he only heard Mrs. Stern's heels click-clacking back up the hall. 

Not more than a few minutes later came a knock at the door. When he opened it, a stack of towels topped with a pink box was thrust at him—before he could open his mouth, whoever had been behind the stack was gone. 

"Well...okay then." Setting the towels down on the cot, he sat, propping the box on his knees. "Let's see what we have in this...thing." 

The box was vibrant pink, with a stylized drawing of a ribbon in a darker pink outlining the lid. He tossed the lid aside and peered in. The assortment of tiny products inside made him laugh—it was a doll's wash kit. There was a tiny pink bar of soap, and a stick of deodorant. There was a little toothbrush, along with tubes of toothpaste, shampoo, and lotion. There was also a bit of shave cream and a pink...he turned it round and about before realizing it was meant to be a razor. He held it up, staring at it and wondering _what on earth,_ before it occurred to him that _girls shave their legs!_

He dropped it back in the box like it was on fire, and blushed—went an even deeper red when he jostled the box and a tampon rolled out. "Oh gosh!" 

He shoved the tampon back in the box, and flung it to the side, glaring at it. It must be pretty darn rare for them to have carriers stay if all they had were kits for girls. For a moment, he was very perturbed...until the ridiculousness of it all left him breathless with giggling. He grabbed up the pile of towels and a robe dropped to the cot—thankfully plain white, and long enough to cover his knees, at least. He took off everything but his boots and slipped out into the hallway—hurried quickly as he could to the shower room with his pink box and his little white towels, giggling all he way. 

It was awful, running naked down the hall but for boots and a short robe; just awful—but for some reason he just couldn't stop laughing. He flung open the shower room door, slipped inside and closed it carefully before dropping back against it. Jared swallowed a last giggle as he looked around. 

It was definitely small, even by his standards. It was basically a little, green-tiled closet, with a white plastic curtain hiding the shower itself. There was a mirror, with a tiny shelf and below it a sink no bigger than a teacup. There was no glass for water, and only one hook to hang his towels and robe on. He sighed, leaned past the curtain and turned on the water He set the tiny toothbrush on the edge of the sink.

"Oh my, yes…" Water. Hot. Clean. And above all _hot._ He whipped off his robe and kicked off his boots and stepped into paradise. It felt so good, he tingled all over. Dirt, sweat, tears, little aches and pains, worry, fear...all of it sweeping down the drain.

Working up a lather, he started from the top of his head, and worked his way slowly, leisurely, down to his toes. There was no one waiting for him, no one knocking on the door, demanding he 'get out for goodness sakes.'

He soaped up arms and fingers and hips and thighs and then, tentatively, his rod—swift sweeps of a soapy hand, over his balls, skipping that one spot, and then back to his rod and he slowed down. Up, and down, slowly, soapy fingers squeezing and pulling, pulling the foreskin back and up again... he moaned quietly, lips pressed tight. His hips chased the feeling, as he thrust in and out of his hand. His body shook, he threw his head back and groaned as he came, knees buckling a bit. He threw out his hand to steady himself, slapping hard against the wet tiles. Dropping his head and panting, he watched his release swirling lazily around the drain, helped it along with reluctant toe. 

"Ick."

But it had felt good, and now he felt warm, and relaxed like he hadn't in days. He refused to feel the slightest bit of guilt for what he'd done. Even when Thing moved against him, probably annoyed that it'd been disturbed. 

Back in his room, he kicked off his boots, and wiggled into a pair of shorts—his last clean pair. He prayed his usual before dropping back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as he rubbed soothing circles over his aching stomach. The rather horrible, too-short, slab of stone masquerading as a bed had him seriously worried that he'd be up all night. The thought barely crossed his mind before his head settled into the pillow; a wave of exhaustion so total it was painful swept over him. Midway through a groan, he was in dreams. 

=+=  
In the morning, a sharp rap at the door brought him awake, blinking in consternation, no idea where he was—still so tired he almost didn't know _who_ he was for a second or two. A sick roiling in his stomach kindly reminded him. 

The door creaked open and a woman peered around the edge. "Morning, Jared, it's Marie. We haven't met yet, but—" She looked apologetic for waking him, and held out a cup of steaming tea. "Peace offering," she said brightly.

Jared quickly got up, jerking his pants on and whipping a shirt over his head as the woman sidled into the room. Kind enough to give him a little privacy—she kept her back to him as she gently closed the door—she set the cup on the nightstand and sighed. "Well, dear, let's get the bad news out of the way first, shall we? There was no way we could convince the girls sharing the four-bed room to share with a boy. Even though…" she inclined her head towards him. "We tried to assure them you weren't interested—you aren't, right? I mean—" She paled a little and cursed under her breath, "God, I'm an idiot. I'm sorry if—"

Jared stopped her before she melted down completely. "No, you're right. I'm not interested. Won't be."

She sighed again. "Still, I am sorry. About the room, and the girls...well, some of our girls are here because of circumstances outside of their choice, and they just...they won't. They can't." 

"I understand," he said, and bit his lip. It was something he understood too darn well. "But does that mean that I'm...I have to leave here?" 

The irony was a bit thick. Here he was, being rejected for having a penis despite also being pregnant. At home, he'd been rejected for being pregnant despite also being male. He laughed bitterly. He was pregnant, being rejected by pregnant women, and that meant there was no place for him to go. 

He sat heavily on the cot, his head bowed over the cup of tea, not even wasting the effort to hold back tears. He deserved a few minutes to wallow in misery. He was rowing against the current in a colander for a boat – orphaned and homeless and his penis was robbing him of his last chance. 

No!" she said vehemently, _"No._ we've found a place, if you're willing. It's just...it will take a bit of work." 

Jared stared at her, uncomfortably aware that he'd said a good part of that crazed ramble out loud...holerah. It was like the darn Thing had taken over his brain as well as his belly. 

"Mrs. Mond is in charge of intake here during the day. She's reviewed the information Mrs. Stern left for her, and she has some questions for you before going forward. Would you like breakfast first?"

"No," he said, and of course his stomach took that moment to howl like a crazed wolf. "Yes...I guess," he muttered at the woman's knowing look, and grudgingly added a "Thank you." Once again, he was held hostage to the Thing's desires. 

After a decent, if plain, breakfast of oatmeal and caffee—no, coffee—and toast, of which he'd generously been allowed seconds, he was sent to Mrs. Mond.

He ended up in a different office than he'd been in the night before, this time the woman behind the desk was portly, dark-skinned, with unruly gray hair twisted into a bun. Instead of the efficient, put-together look of Mrs. Stern's office, this one was a little haphazard; books and papers were stuffed into every nook and cranny of a bookshelf that took up an entire wall. If the shelves weren't groaning under the weight of notebooks and files and such, it held what Jared assumed were family pictures, lots and lots of pictures of different people of all ages, all smiling wide, and generally looking as if life was treating them well. Jared liked them very much, liked what they said about her and how she felt about family; there was no doubt that the people in the photos were related to Mrs. Mond. Some version of her wide, round face smiled at him from every picture. 

She came around and took Jared's hand, led him to a leather chair sat in front of her desk. She sank back into her own chair, shoved a glass jar filled with brightly colored candies towards him. 

"Morning, Jared. I know you've been through a lot, so we won't do too much back and forth. You're staying with us to delivery, and past if you wish. Now by that I mean...well, have you thought about what you're going to do, after delivery?" She fixed him with a concerned look, and Jared shrugged. He hadn't had a moment to think about _after_ —he'd been consumed with living through the _now._ Truth to tell, he couldn't conceive of an after. 

"No," he told her. "I guess...I have to figure out some way to support it and me."

Mrs. Mond winced, and said "You're very young. And I'm assuming there's no father in the picture?" 

Jared shook his head and glanced towards the large windows. It was gray outside, the clouds looming closer, their undersides scraping the tops of the buildings...definitely going to snow soon. He blinked, his attention wandering back to the woman. "Uhm, no. No. He was an Outsider. I mean, a stranger. He...he didn't know me, he didn't even ask me if I wanted to."

She made a small noise that made him look at her. Her brown eyes shimmered and she looked genuinely upset for him. It made something in his chest hitch; words blurted out before he could stop himself. "It was the first time something like that happened to me. I might have wanted to, maybe, but he didn't ask. I'm not sure…" He wrung his hands and blinked rapidly, holding back tears. 

"Oh, honey...I'm so, so sorry. I'm not going to upset you further by asking what happened next. I know a little bit about life in the Family communities. I hope you can believe that it wasn't your fault, it really wasn't. I imagine you have been seen by a doctor, yes; we're not just guessing here?"

"Yes, I have seen a doctor." 

"Tell you what—with your permission, we can get your records from that doctor. Now, the state views being exiled as being on par with emancipation of a minor. So you can request your own records and we can go from there. " 

She reached for a book on her desk and flipped it open—Jared startled when it made a humming noise and then chimed softly. "Now, let's get the doctor's name, and if you remember, the office address?"

It was beyond fascinating to watch her manipulate the book machine. She spoke the doctor's name into the book and when it hummed, she tapped the book with a thin pencil/pen sort of thing. "Okay, I sent his particulars to my assistant. We should hear something from his office soon. And now, you're to lay down again and get some rest, then take yourself to the cafeteria and by then, we should have your living arrangements set."

A few hours later, Marie was again tapping on his little closet door to take him back to Mrs. Mond. 

Mrs. Mond smiled when Jared poked his head around the door and waved him in. She had a file of papers in hand, flapping them at him. "Here we go."

He gaped at her. "Is that my records? How did you get them so quickly?" 

"The office telefaxed the material over to us. The doctor wishes you good luck, by the way, and left his number if you want to call him. His office is a hike, though, and we do have doctors who volunteer with us here and they're very, very good." She stopped, and fixed Jared with an intense look that would have made him nervous coming from his mother, but from Mrs. Mond, it just seemed...she was searching something out in him, but not in a bad way. She leaned forward and steepled her hands. "Jared, we make it a point not to involve ourselves in any of your decision-making regarding the pregnancy. We suggest, we advise, but ultimately it's your choice. Despite our beginnings, we don't stand in anyone's way, if you understand. The decisions you make about your life are your own business."

Jared squinted at her, trying to understand what she meant and then, understanding sent cold chills snaking down his spine. "Oh, no… that's not. That's not an option. I'm having it."

"You realize just how dangerous it can be for a carrier? Complications can arise at any time. Risky, sometimes fatal complications."

"I understand." Better than she did, he figured. He's sinned and this was his punishment and he accepted it, no matter the outcome. He had no choice. No options. 

"Jared…."

"No. you said my choices were my own business. Well, this is the choice I've made."

"You're so young, just barely starting out...have you given any consideration to adoption, then?"

"What? I...no. I mean, can such a thing be? Would someone want a baby that came from something like me?"

"Oh, Jared. There's nothing wrong with you, believe me. I can see that you're a good person. There are people waiting, hoping, and if that's what you decide to do, they'd be honored to give your baby a loving home. It's an option we often present to our gir—to people who come to us for help, people who might be a little too young to deal with everything this entails. Of course, carrying a baby, bonding with it, you might not want—"

"No!" he said firmly. "Can I have information on adoption, please? I want to know about it." He felt a little lighter than he'd had since destroying his life with Riley. There _was_ a light at the end of this tunnel, and maybe it wasn't necessarily a train. This could be the way out...if Thing didn't kill him or cripple him, right?

"Now, as for living arrangements...we do have a place for you, but it'll take some work on all our parts. It's livable, just...uhm." 

She seemed embarrassed, flustered, and Jared wondered if he'd have to sleep in that closet until the baby was born. Well, if that's what was worrying her—"I was refused a place in my parent's house, so I slept in a barn before the Elders decided that I was dead to the community. I think I'd be fine just about anywhere."

"You—you slept in a barn? In this weather?" Mrs. Mond, round little face looked thunderous, her dimples disappearing with the force of her frown. Jared blinked. She was actually a little scary looking. "Well, you might have to deal with dust and a few spiders—" she shuddered "—but trust me, it will be nothing like sleeping in a barn." 

She smiled before getting back to business. "You'll be sharing a bathroom, so you'll have to hash that out with the others. No visitors except in the lounge room, kitchen can be used whenever you want, but meals are served three times a day and you need to be on time if you want to have your meals in the dining room. There'll be more rules, but you have time to figure them all out. One more night in the closet, my dear, and then you'll have your very own space."

It sounded good. He looked up at her, and smiled. "Thank you," he said, and she seemed to understand that he meant for more than the room.

=+=  
"Well..." Jared stared, turning 'round and 'round in the place that would be his room. It was half of an attic: dusty, packed with boxes and bits of old furniture and the general sort of detritus that accumulates from years of living. _"Gosh."_

It was...warm. And dry, so that was a plus. And it was his alone, also a plus, he guessed. It was bigger than his room back—back in Mountain Grove, for sure. It was under the roof like it too. And that was were similarities stopped. He sighed, looking around the room feeling dispirited, until the light seemed to shift and drew his attention to the deep window at the rear of the room. He walked across the dusty wooden floor, looked out, and gasped. _What a view._

The sky was a soft canvas painted gray and blue by the sinking winter sun, crossed here and there with delicate pen strokes—bare tree branches made black and silver by the evening light. Looking down, he saw a courtyard with a tiny pond or fountain in the center reflecting the winter sky; a rambling path wound its way around the small square, interrupted by benches. He could see how lovely it would be in spring, in summer—it was beautiful now, black, bare branches and all. And now, snowflakes began dancing in the air, delicate dashes of white, drifting earth-ward to coat the grass. The flakes came down slowly at first, but gradually picked up speed, determined to cover everything with white. He snagged a blanket from a pile of linens left at the doorway, and sat on the windowsill to watch the snow fall, and slowly, slowly, he began to thaw. 

In bed that night, flat on a mattress on the floor, his fingers kept being drawn to his stomach, tracing the barely there swell, pushing against the unfamiliar hardness there. Still not very big, but it felt totally alien to him. Made him feel like he was an impostor, someone pretending to be himself. He wondered what life would be like here, if he'd be ignored, or despised. He wondered, too, if adopting really was an option for him. If he went through with it, would he be avoiding a punishment he deserved? It seemed like an easy way out. He'd sinned and deserved to suffer for it, he knew this; would he be committing an even greater sin if he gave this child away? 

He shifted to his side, grimacing at the unfamiliar pull and shift of muscle. "I never wanted anything like this," he whispered. "I thought some day I'd marry a girl, and she'd have children, and I'd teach school, and it would be...a decent enough life. Momma and Daddy at least would have been happy, and Jesse would have been proud of me and Mercy would have been a busy-body aunt. Then I had to go and ruin things." He sighed, and blinked back useless tears. "It's not your fault that I can't love you. It's not your fault. Maybe someone else will love you. I hope so."

The next morning, Jared went down to the dining hall to have breakfast. He watched the girls there, watched how they interacted with each other, the way they laughed together, talked together. He wondered if they'd ever be that way with him. Here he was, in his distant, lonely corner—the only boy. Being isolated in a room full of people made him feel almost as bad as being shunned had made him feel. 

He drank his bitter caffee, sighed. He tried not to make a face, in case someone was watching. It wasn't really all that bad...it was okay. It was caffee. Coffee. The only really bad coffee was no coffee at all. Resting his chin on his free hand, he watched snow fall by the dining room windows and for some reason the thought came —if none of this had ever happened if he'd never sinned this way, he probably would have eventually married Clarice. And he would have been so miserable that eventually, he'd have dried up and blown away. He knew that now. The Elders had almost done him an unintended favor; he'd been kept from destroying himself. At least this way, he had a chance at some kind of life.

He nodded, sharp and final. That's the way he would look at it from now on. He caught the curious stares being directed his way and blushed. He must look a fool, having conversations with himself. He grinned at the thought, and was mildly surprised when some of the girls smiled back, tentatively. He felt a little better at that, and finally gave proper attention to the little mound of scrambled eggs sitting on toast that he'd grabbed along with his coffee. They were good, and filling, and it was time he start taking care of himself. 

After breakfast, he was on the cleanup crew, which he didn't mind since it meant he wasn't alone for the hour or so it took to clean . He swept, and gathered dishes, and the girls he worked with were reserved, but polite at least, and even helpful, pointing out where things belonged. He was relieved when the time came to be excused to clean up his attic space, though. 

He pulled a bucket and cleaning supplies up the stairs and stood in the doorway, looked at the corners dripping with cobwebs and the billows of dust gilded by the afternoon sun. "Oh my…" he gazed around the room and shook his head, snickering quietly to himself. Well, this was too much, really; this was rich. Here he was, fallen into one of his books— _The Poor Orphan In The Attic;_ penniless, abandoned, forced into the world all alone. He sobered, setting the bucket down and sighing. 

It'd be a lot funnier if it wasn't true.


	11. The snow had pulled back somewhat from the sidewalks and streets, leaving clear, if slushy, paths to walk.

=+=  
Jared was taking advantage of a nice day—a relatively nice day. The snow had pulled back somewhat from the sidewalks and streets, leaving clear, if slushy, paths to walk. He strolled along, ignoring the lub-dub sounds his slightly-too-large rubber boots were making. It was worth sacrificing a bit of his dignity to keep his feet dry and more or less warm. He'd found the pair of green boots while cleaning up his attic room, along with a box gone soft and crumbly with age, but miraculously holding a few pairs of gloves and a couple of hats in wearable shape. It'd felt as fine as winning the Seventh Year's top speller—maybe better, because the prize for that had been a fountain pen and a couple of nibs, and that had been...underwhelming. 

Judging by the looks he'd fielded from the girls when he walked through the lounge, the items he'd found had not been the most fashionable. Fine, neither was he; no part of him was fashionable, from the top of his shaggy head to the ends of his skinny, finger-toes. He'd swept out of St. Maggie's sporting a purple beanie and matching gloves—boots wobbling around his calves, but his head held high.

Once out of sight of St. Maggie's, he happily strolled along, enjoying a pleasant walk while exploring the park he could see from his attic window. At the moment, he was thoroughly enjoying a sweet bun he’d bought at the Milk Bar to take along for breakfast. His wandering took him beyond the park, into a small business district, where the foot traffic was less frantic than in the deeper parts of the city he’d crossed days before. Jared nodded with approval; definitely more comfortable here than he'd been in those huge crowded streets and the shops here made more sense to him—something he was about to take advantage of. He had some dollars in his pocket, courtesy of St. Maggie's, and he was certain he could make the best of them.

A couple of hours later, the dollars Jared had left were a pleasant weight in his pocket—it was comforting to have a bit of money left over after having bought essentials, like socks and underwear. The bright yellow bag he carried also held a new shirt in Outsider style—it was a rather severe cut, but a lovely, crisp white, and he liked that the collar button was a bright blue. He had brand new pants, too—he’d decided the pants were a necessity after the salesperson explained they would stretch to accommodate his growing middle. Peanuts—now _that_ conversation had been a special kind of embarrassment. At least, thank goodness, he now had pants that covered his bare ankles...Jared frowned. There must be something wrong with the way he did his laundry, what with the way his pants had shrunk up in the wash. He wished he knew how to ask one of the girls how he was ruining his wash, but none of them had warmed to him any….

Jared concentrated on the positive, like the fact the new pants were so reasonable, he was able to buy two pair. Then, feeling pleased that he'd done so well, he decided to splurge, and bought some tea guaranteed to settle a queasy stomach, and a totally unnecessary, but awfully pretty blue cup to drink the tea from; a treat to celebrate his not dying on the streets. 

He shoved the last bit of sticky bun into his mouth, licking his fingers quickly before switching the bag he carried into that hand. He smiled to himself. He was a regular Mr. J.D. Rockefeller now, what with all his fancy new things.

=+=  
The sun was high overhead by the time he came panting up to one long block full of book-selling stalls. He was feeling the strain of walking and carrying Thing along, even if it was still small. Despite the chill, the exercise was enough to break him out in a sweat, and he stopped to loosen the buttons on his coat and unwind his scarf. While doing that, his eyes were drawn to one of the stalls, a colorful thing papered over with bright drawings of planets and stars and weird-looking monsters.

Jared took his time poking about there, enjoying the variety of books and the chance to slow down and regain his breath. Like most of the city's stalls, this one was open to the streets, but its heaters kept it comfortable enough that Jared could tuck away his gloves and open his coat completely. They also wafted the scent of books into the air; paper and ink and leather covers—seductive as a siren's voice. He ran his fingers lightly over the spines of a stack of books, from their covers, fantasy books—title after title he'd never heard of. On higher shelves, there were the odd metal books he'd watched Mrs. Mond use...his fingers twitched to have a go at them, but he didn't have to look to know they were out of his price range. Besides, the slightly-worn paper backs piled up on the 'specials table' were more than good enough for him. 

Picking one up, thumbing through the pages, Jared sighed happily. It was like being let loose in a candy store, with no one to tell him he couldn't have whatever flavor he wanted. 

The woman behind the cash register let him take a bag for ten cents—five books in all. He walked along holding his treasures, and beaming so brightly that people passing by smiled just as brightly back. The way back towards St. Maggie's led him past a little shop that had windows full of curious items: brass bells, wooden animals painted in bright colors, boxes and vases and prints of all sizes. Curiosity drew him inside; a bell over the door rang out his presence.

Besides all the wonderful items piled up in the shop, he noticed there were rugs as well. Now that was an item he could really use—something to keep his feet off the icy floors. He imagined sitting on a nice warm rug, with a book and his caffee— _coffee,_ darn it. He eyed the rolls of rugs as tall as himself leaning against the wall, and smaller, bright rugs hung like wash from the ceiling. He ran his fingers over the rolls, eyed the price tags and sighed.

"Shopping for a rug for your mother, young man?" the counter person asked, and Jared shook his head.

"No sir, I need a rug for my room," he replied, "but I can't afford any of these."

"So, buy a rug on time," the man shrugged. 

"On...on time?" 

Jared had no idea what that meant, and taking pity on his obvious confusion, the salesperson patiently explained, "What you do is pay a bit each week, you know? You put a percentage of the whole price down to hold the item, and then pay what you can—there's a minimum though, in payment and in the amount of time we'll hold the item," he said. "It works very nicely."

When Jared left the shop, rug-less of course, he thought about what the salesperson had said, the 'paying each week'. 

For right now, he was set—more or less. He was in a place where it was clean, safe to sleep, and he was able to wash up every evening. He had food, warmth. He'd been promised medical care. He was even assured he'd have a bit of spending money each month. He was enormously grateful for all of that but...he needed a job. Money for little things that made life livable. Like pretty rugs, and books. And coffee. Things he certainly didn't expect St. Margaret's to pay for—he had enough on his conscience already.

He was nearly back to the shelter when a shop that sold stationary items enticed him with banners declaring, "WHAT A SALE!" hanging over its doorway, tempting him inside with neatly ordered stacks of notebooks and sketchbooks, pencils and paints, and jars full of something new and exciting—to him at least: _ball-point pens._ Pens that didn't need to be filled with ink, or cleaned, or have their nibs replaced. Pens that were ready to write whenever the mood struck. Fascinating! He picked up a thin metal tube from the counter, and stroked a line on the sheet of paper laid next to it. He couldn't help but smile as he spelled out 'Jay' in a bright blue line. "Wow..."

There were bottles of ink and fountain pens sitting on the counter as well, but really, nibs were of the devil, and he gladly bought _two_ ball-point pens, a notebook, and some envelopes. He had an idea….

Eventually Jared ended up back at the Milk Bar. He planned to have one last treat for the day. Taking one of his notebooks out of the bag, he opened it to the first page and wrote, _'Special Coffee'_ across the top of it, and under that, a big, bold **1.**

It was with deep satisfaction he took a sip of a coffee with one pump of hazelnut syrup and a cap of snowy, whipped cream.

“I see St. Maggie’s is being good to you,” he heard, and jumped, startled to find the stall owner, Mr. Sonne, so close to him. 

“Oh! Oh Yes, thank you, I’ve...settled in,” Jared said and shrugged. “It’s not a bad place.”

Mr. Sonne nodded, his habitual frown warming infinitesimally. “They’re decent people.”

Jared looked away, feeling awkward and unsure. He glanced down at the counter. Mr. Sonne’s hand was partially obscuring a handbill, but Jared could still make out the _Help Wanted_ in a bold typeface printed across the top. "Oh, there you go—just what I need," he said. 

Mr. Sonne glanced down at the handbill, reading it out loud. "Hmmm... 'Help wanted at Golden Morn. It's a diner—that's a small restaurant. Do you have any kind of experience in this profession?" he asked, as he pushed the bill towards Jared. "It’s very different than working on a farm, you know.'

Jared closed his eyes and counted to ten. “I...am sure it is, sir, but so is teaching, something of which I also have experience of. I’m sure I’d be able to get the hang of—” he held the handbill up and read, "—'waiting on tables. Light dish-washing, good at numbers' quite handily. Plus, I am good with people, which I'm sure would be a benefit, working at a diner." He nodded decisively, and Mr. Sonne made a strangled little noise that in another person, Jared would have said was a chuckle. 

"I saw that right away, young man. You have a lot of potential." 

"Thank you, sir. I’m Ja—Jay,” Jared said, blushing as he held out his hand. “If you'd be kind enough to point me in the right direction, I think I have just time enough to apply.”

=+=  
The place definitely was a small restaurant—very small—but clean and bright, looking like a nice place to eat. He eased his way inside, ignoring all the looks directed at him, before catching the eye of a tall girl with blonde hair, and a friendly smile. 

"Hello, hon. What can I do for you?" Her eyes went right to his middle, as if Thing was a light bulb, blinking out its presence madly. She pursed her lips before smiling again. "Would you like a table, can I get you a menu?"

"I've actually come about the job, if it's still open?"

“Oh! Well, yes, sure! Here, why don’t you sit while I go get the boss?" She pulled out a chair at a table covered with papers, ledgers, and a couple of half-empty coffee cups. It definitely was not a table meant for diners. The girl left him with a fresh cup of coffee and he edged some of the ledgers over to make room for his cup. He was half-way through his coffee, before a loud voice startled him. 

"Hey there, come about the job, have ya? Great—the kids have either gone back to school or off to serve their Year, and we're pretty short-handed at the mo'."

Jared just stared and nodded at the man leaning over him. a tall, brown-skinned man whose thick black hair was swept back with maybe a touch too much pomade, and whose eyes were wide and round over a huge grin.

He whirled away and flopped down on the chair across from Jared, still smiling. His sleeves were rolled up, his bow tie was cock-eyed, and there was a big, blue splotch of ink marring his shirt pocket. He began sweeping papers and notebooks away, stacking cups, and snapping his fingers impatiently at the blonde girl who steadfastly ignored him, until finally he leaned backwards and began stacking the cups himself on a table behind him, all the while chatting about needing dishwashers and busboys and scrubs or something like that...it was like sharing space with a talkative whirlwind.

Jared waited, quietly sipping coffee, until the man ran down, stopped chattering, and actually took a look at Jared. His gaze jumped all over: left to right, up and down, taking in Jared's hair—which he was going to get cut like the city boys as soon as he could—and his barn coat, Mr. Beaver's bright sweater peeking out from under it, and the way he held himself. The man met his eyes then, leaned elbows on the table, and asked Jared, with all seriousness, "Can you read?"

 _Why_ did everyone presume that Family was illiterate? Jared scowled despite himself and replied sharply, "Yes, I certainly can—I was an assistant teacher at home."

The man lifted an eyebrow. "Well, Sonny, that's good to know if I need someone to help with the orders."

Jared blushed; he knew his tone had been snippy, and that wasn't exactly the impression he was trying to give. "I'm sure I could do that. I'm very smart, and I pick things up quickly."

"Oh, there you go then, we're a modest one, aren't we?" the man drawled, a smirk picking up one corner of his mouth in a way Jared thought was terribly unattractive. 

The man tapped fingertips against formica, rat-tat-tat, apparently waiting for Jared to answer—so he did. 

"False modesty," Jared replied, "is as bad as vanity. I won't brag that I'm good looking when I know very well that I'm not; I won't pretend to be _dumb_ when I know I certainly am not."

The man laughed out loud, giving him another slow look up and down. "Oh you think so? I don't know about all that, now. What's your name, Modest One?"

"Jared," he said shortly, and bit his lip. Peanuts—he sounded snippy again, but it was just...just that he was a little stung that the man had so freely agreed that Jared was ugly and then practically laughed in his face, but gosh, he needed a job, and this was probably his best bet, considering his lack of knowledge when it came to city life, plus it was in walking distance, so, "No...I should be completely honest though, " knowing that this would more than likely cost him his chance at this job. "I'm...I'm a carrier?" he said, wincing at how it sounded more like a question than a statement. 

The man blinked big eyes at him, slightly confused, slightly...interested. "Oo-kaay, that's...I'm not sure what that is."

"I'm carrying now," Jared said, forcing his voice to sound much decisive and bold than he felt by far.

"Oh! Oh, alright..I guess when you're on the books you'll get covered like a citizen, so, ah...yeah, you'll get maternity for...uh, when are you, ah, due?"

"I'm hired?" Jared stared at the man open-mouthed, gulped at his affirmative nod. "You—you don't care? About me being—" Excitement at the possibility of having the job warred with fear that he'd lose it when the man realized who he'd hired. 

The man dropped back in his chair and sighed. Jared noticed just how long the lashes framing those big eyes were when the man looked up again. "Well, you know, I've never met a carrier before, but I always thought being one must be a tough row to hoe. It's not really been that long since the laws changed, and you all got your proper rights. My grandparents kinda went through the same troubles, in a way. So I promised myself I'd never be a jerk if I met a carrier. So, this is me, Orlando, not being a jerk. _Trying_ not to be. About you being a carrier I mean, the rest of my crew will tell you being a jerk is my default setting. Anyway, them upstarts call me 'Lando. You are…?" 

He held his hand out, and Jared took it, trying to remember to keep his grip firm—but not too firm. And not too soft, and should he have dried his palm first, was it too sweaty? 

"Jared…Padalecki?" Oh gosh, he groaned internally. He sounded like he wasn't sure of who he was! He tried to smile and act like he knew what Mr. Lando was going on about—rights and rows and grandparents—and gave him his new address when asked, which Mr. Lando seemed to approve of, as well as his full name and when the man asked for the required personal information, Jared found once again that he needed say nothing more than _Family, exiled,_ and the name of his former community. 

"You'll find out there are a lot of dumb rules to follow out here in the non-Family world too, no offense, but you'll get used to it," Mr. Lando said. "All kidding aside, my crew are good people, my customers too; anyone gives you problems, you let us know. I mean, hey, you're definitely going to get crap from time to time, but dollars to donuts won't be nothing like home. Mostly. Take this paper with you back to St. Maggie's, and once you get it signed off, that should be it. You're…" he squinted at Jared, looking him up and down, before saying, "...seventeen?"

"Yes, I am," Jared agreed instantly. "Yes, indeed—you have a good eye," he said, crossing his fingers mentally and adding the lie to the list of sins he prayed forgiveness for, hoping no one caught on to the fact that he was fifteen...besides, in another four months he'd be technically an adult, anyway. 

Lando smirked, looking awfully proud of himself. "I do, don't I? Okay, so, say we start Monday, bright and early.” and with that, Mr. Lando swung out of his chair and headed toward the back of the diner, whistling and calling out greetings to his customers as he went. 

The tall blonde girl sat in the chair Mr. Lando vacated. "Hi hon—I knew O was going to fall for you. Strays—picks them up by the bushel, that one. So, my soon-to-be co-worker, I am Addie. And you are?"

“Jay,” Jared said and held out his hand. He had the feeling See'em would have been proud of how bold he was. “Pleased to meet you.”

"Oh, aren't you a darling, polite boy. How far along are you?"

"I—I—" Jared stopped, took a breath and started over. "I’m sorry, I'm not sure how to talk to people about it. I’m about, um, five months along. I—" Jared hesitated, but there must have been volumes in his expression, because Addie took his hand and patted it gently.

"Hey, it’s okay, hon. We don't have to talk now—why, you don't even know me yet. But something tells me we’re going to be the best of friends."

Jared smiled shyly, thinking how nice it would be to have a friend, someone he could talk to. 

Back in Mountain Grove, before it had all gone so wrong, people were friendly enough, sure, but the only real friends he'd had were family and they kind of didn't count. Family had to like you. Anyway, that's what he'd thought, back then.

Here in the Outside, most of the people he met had been kind to him—not counting the girls at St. Maggie's. Even then he understood, in a way, why that was. But to have a real friend? A friend who wanted to talk to him, would be glad to see him? How wonderful that would be! And Addie was—well, she was beautiful, with her bright smile and perky, blonde pony-tail, and wasn't it monstrously unfair that her moles were adorable, while his looked like he’d had mouse droppings glued to his face. Plus, he noticed, leaning forward a bit—she had the most beautiful green eyes, a shade of green that was really—

Addie flapped a couple of sheets of paper under his nose, snatching his attention back. “Okay, so—get that paperwork taken care of, _eat_ something—ah-ah—" she said, holding her hands up, "don’t tell me you’ve eaten today, because whatever it was, it was not enough. I could cut bread on those cheekbones. Come in Monday morning—clean white shirt, and do you have black pants? Good."

She stood, and walked Jared back through the diner, ignoring curious looks. She stopped at the entrance, kissed him on the cheek and said, "And wear comfortable shoes."

Jared walked out onto the street, hand pressed to the warm spot on his cheek and feeling a little dazed...and triumphant. He had a job! He had a job, and maybe even a friend.

"Ha! Told you I'd make it. Told you I'd survive,” he muttered to himself, but if thoughts were birds, they'd fly straight to Mountain Grove and let everyone know that despite what they'd wished, he was making a bad situation into something good. 

=+=  
That evening, in his attic room, Jared carefully put the papers Mrs. Mond had signed into his bag. He buffed his boots, trying to get them as clean as possible. He hung up a pair of his clever, stretchy-waisted black trousers, that the salesperson assured him would expand with his growing waistline, and brushed them for probably the fourth time that evening. His white shirt practically glowed in the low light of his room, crisp, new, and spotless. Though he worried it wouldn't stay like that long, and it was the only white shirt he had. Maybe he could ask Addie how to keep it clean—and buy another shirt with his first paycheck. 

First paycheck...the thought made him smile wide, and pleased. _First paych—oh!_

Jared nodded firmly, and went to his desk.

He carefully detached a sheet piece of paper from the back of his notebook, smoothed it out on his desk. He took one of the clever roller-ball pens in had and wrote neatly as possible:

_Dear Mr. Beaver,  
Even though you don't know me besides as the thief who stole your goods, I wanted you to know that I am now in the city, and am standing on the eve of being gainfully employed. I will soon be able to pay you back for what I owe, a prospect that makes me very happy, and you as well, I imagine. _

_The room I’m staying in now is very nice and roomy, but not as homey as your cabin. I’ve never stayed anywhere nicer, and with apologies included, I thank you again. You saved my life even if you didn't know that's what you were doing._

_My full name is Jared Tytus Padalecki. You will be hearing from me soon.  
Sincerely,_

_J.T.P._

He hummed to himself as he addressed the letter, and decided not to add a return address to the envelope. He saw no reason why Mr. Beaver would want to respond. And there was the issue of Mr. Beaver tracking him down and having him arrested for theft...though in his heart of hearts, he just couldn't imagine Mr. Beaver would really be that vengeful. _Not a man who bought sweaters like this one,_ Jared thought, stroking over the soft material of what had become his favorite article of clothing. In the morning, after chores and lectures, and before work at his brand new job, he'd find a post box and mail it. He felt just a tiny bit lighter, knowing that this, at least, was something he could fix.


	12. Today was my first full day of work, and my first day of class

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part four: Life in the City

_Dear Mr. Jim Beaver,_

_Today was my first full day of work, and my first day of class. I was afraid that I'd be far behind the other students, but I'm not quite as behind as I feared, and I am reading better than most. That is not to brag, it is simply fact. They told me that my last year of school was what would be eighth grade in the Outside, but that my tests placed me closer to Secondary School, which is four parts and of course you know all about that so you will not be surprised that I am now in the alpha class._

_Now that I am attending classes, my day is fully scheduled, between doing morning chores, which are quick and boring, and the hours in I spend in school. After lunch and cleanup, I then head to Golden Morn, which is a very hopeful and glamorous name for a rather boring, small restaurant with average food. *smile* The people, however, are very nice--"_

Jared stopped, tapping the pen against his teeth. Should he tell Mr. Jim Beaver about his condition? He didn't want him to think badly of him—but on the other hand, if he couldn't be open and honest with the man he stole from, than whom? 

_\--and don't care that I'm fifteen and pregnant. Stars, that sounds so awful, and I promise I'm closer to sixteen than fifteen. But it's not quite as horrible as that. Well, there's the fact that I'm carrying around the proof of being without family, but that would have happened anyway, eventually. I know that now. I know I'm stronger than anyone imagined, including myself._

_Mr Jim, I meant to only tell you about my job and that at the end of this week I will start repaying you, but instead I open my heart to you. I hope you don't mind. I picture you as a man who wouldn't._

_On the chance that you actually receive these letters and that you are still reading, I hope this letter finds you in good health._

_Sincerely,  
Jay (everyone calls me jay now)_

Jay folded the sheet and tucked it into the envelope. He would drop it in the post box tomorrow on his way to work. Sighing with satisfaction, he rubbed his toes into the fuzzy fibers of his new rug. He'd finished the last payment at the end of last week. What an amazing feeling that had been, handing over the last of the notes, and receiving his brand new rug. The shop keeper had wrapped it in brown paper to keep it clean, and tied it with a few strips of twine. He'd handed it over with a little bow and said, "Enjoy your new rug, Jay. You deserve it." 

The shop keeper had beamed at him, laughter in the corners of his mouth, and Jared had just laughed out loud with joy. He'd finally purchased something big; he was now the owner of a brand new rug. He'd bowed in return before snatching up his prize and hurrying back to St. Maggie's.

He'd gotten some curious looks when he'd strolled past the girls in the dining hall, balancing the rolled rug over his shoulder, but of course no one asked him what he was doing with the rug, or why he had one. They probably thought that because he was male he couldn't possibly have an interest in making a home for himself; nesting was a female instinct. Well, he liked his rug, and it did make his attic feel a little more like a home, and he was just as entitled to a nest as anyone else.

Jared slid off the bed, and sat on the warm rug, with his new book to keep him company. He looked around his attic room and nodded, pleased. He did deserve this bit of color and warmth in his life. He'd worked hard for it. He loved each blue, yellow, and green stripe of it, patting the rug like it was a kitten. He opened his book with a smile, prepared to discover just where it was this Bilbo Baggins character was going.

=+=  


By the time the end of the work week rolled around, Jared was discovering that working in the Outside world was very different experience than working in Mountain Grove had been. Here, no one checked on him every few minutes to make sure he wasn't woolgathering, no one repeated the order and the nature of his chores—he was told once and he'd better get it right the first time. Here, no one checked that he was having lunch, or interrupted his breaks. No one chastised him for not doing a perfect job, but no one complimented him for doing so, either. Completing a job was expected of him, not a cause for celebration. 

He stepped back from the cake case, and peered at the glass. It was perfect. Nice and clear, no streaks left behind and each glass shelf displayed the cakes set on their pink and white paper doilies beautifully. The early afternoon sun made the chrome trim work on the case shine as well. Vinegar and water, he nodded. Worked like a charm. Maybe it was silly, but making that case shine gave him a sense of satisfaction.

Smiling, he walked up the aisle towards the back where the cleaning closet was and grabbed a broom. He headed towards the wide foyer and started there, working the broom in tight circles, collecting straws, napkins, fallen food and gum wrappers from under the tables and the aisle. There was an art to working a broom, especially brooms with wide heads like this one. He gave it all the concentration he;d given the cake case, the tip of his tongue working its way into the corner of his mouth. He made a sort of game out of it, nudging trash from the gray squares to the black squares checkerboarding the diner floor. As he swept, his thoughts slowed. He let everything go: worries, concerns, calculations...all that mattered was the swing of the broom and the capturing that last darn elusive Beech Nut wrapper. 

The job gave him more than time to meditate. It was also the perfect place to observe Outside people. Jared was coming to find that people were definitely not all the same, and where you came from and how you were taught made a tremendous difference in how you saw the world. 

He found for all that the Outsiders that came to Golden Morn had money, they often cried poor. It was odd, and it seemed almost as if they were in competition for who was the poorest. Often, the people who declared themselves the poorest were on the same financial level the Padaleckis had been on, and the last thing the Padaleckis had been was poor. They'd had filling meals every day, and clean, well made clothes. They'd had little treats for themselves—pastries and candies, books and pencils, they'd owned horses whose only function was to provide pleasure for them. Jared felt a brief stab of loss for his own horse, Merc, before shaking it off. 

So, yes, until arriving in this city, Jared would have said, while not rich, they were well-settled. What a surprise to find that by the measure of these Outsiders, he'd been _poor._ Until his true self had been revealed, he'd had the happiest of childhoods. He'd seen it that way then, and found he had room sometimes to see it that way now. 

_True self..._ Jared froze in the aisle, broom stilled, mouth open, struck with the light of revelation. Jared _laughed,_ unexpected and loud. 

Some customers glanced at him, startled that the loud laughter was coming from the always-quiet Jay. A few of his coworkers gave him puzzled looks. Today, instead of trying to shrink inside himself, wishing he was invisible, Jared held his head up and smiled back, because here on this Saturday, in this city, alone and trying to make a life of his own, he realized it wasn't _his_ true self that had been revealed. It was the people who had called themselves his family, the people who had claimed to be his community. Well, he would never be that foolish again. He was a community of one. 

Jared took a step, and gasped, staggered by the shock of Thing laying a rather hard kick on him. He stopped, hands on his hips, breathing deeply and slowly until it settled again. _One,_ he repeated. He was one, and would always be _one._

"Who the heck you frowning at, kid?"

Jared recoiled, backing away from the huge dark shape in front of him that became a tall, wide, black man in dark trousers and boots, topped by a dark jacket zipped up to the neck. The man was frowning at him, thick black brows drawn tight over narrowed eyes. Jared could just make out the dark-honey tint of them. 

"I—I—I'm not, at you, I'm just—"

"Just what—hey, you okay?" The man squinted at him. "Are you…?"

Candy came up behind the man and shoved him aside. "You leave Jay alone, he's in a delicate way, he doesn't need you giving him shit."

Jared felt so many, many feelings in that moment, none of them particularly good. He was embarrassed—no, mortified—that Candy used the pregnancy to garner sympathy and also to embarrass the man glaring at him. He could take care of himself and he was not afraid of a—a monolith of a man, with skin like obsidian and fire in his eyes, and the hugest fists Jared had ever seen, bigger than Mountain Grove's blacksmith's—"Gosh."

The man's eyes went wide. "Gosh? _Gosh?"_ His mouth tightened, his eyes went even narrower. His shoulders rose, and Jared swore the man completely blocked the sunlight peeking into the huge front window. His shoulders went higher, and higher, they began to shake—and suddenly a series of high-pitched giggles broke the silence. "Gosh," he giggled. "Sound's like my old gran." 

"I'm sorry," Jared squeaked. "I really wasn't frowning at you, I was thinking about—" He stopped and shook his head. "Well, Life, I guess."

Candy pushed Jared towards a table and made him sit. "What you need to be thinking about is lunch, and Ralph's going to treat you."

"I am?" the man asked and sat down with Jared. He held out a huge hand and said, "I'm Ralph Peterson. Nice to meet you officially, Jay."

Jared took Ralph's hand. "Yes sir, me as well."

"Sir my ass," Ralph said. "Whatya wanna eat? And Candy, can you bring somethin' for Carl, too? His shift's almost done." He turned his attention back to Jared. "Me and Carl are regulars—you'll see a lot of us. We're a team of stevedores; he's the brawn and I'm the brain. I deduce you are—don't tell me— a waiter," he said and smiled when Jared giggled. He went on in a softer tone, "And I see that you're a pregna—a guy in a 'delicate' way. I never met a guy like that before."

Jared said, "Me either," and Ralph giggled again. 

"I like you," he said, beaming at Jared. Jared had no idea what to do with that, except smile back and make an incredibly thorough study of the menu—a pointless pursuit because Candy and Addie both brought him whatever they decided he should eat. Usually heavy on spinach.

Speaking of useless menus, Addie suddenly appeared table-side with a tray of plates. "Here you go, boys. Jay, you getting to know Ralph? Watch out, he's a godawful mother hen."

"Am not!" Ralph gasped, the very picture of affront. He leaned towards Jared. "I'm just interested in the human condition that's all. Life and all the way it unfolds, and you look like a story waiting to be told."

"I'd be more impressed," Addie interrupted, shoving plates in front of them, "If you actually did something like write about this human condition you're so interested in. Until then, you're just a nosy parker in my book." 

She filled their water glasses, winked at Jared, and walked off. Ralph watched her go. 

"That is one unpleasant attitude connected to one fine ass." Jared gasped at Ralph's tactless comment—and his swearing, but Ralph just cut him a look. "Well it is, whether you think so or not. I'm assuming that particular candy's not your flavor?" 

Jared blushed deeply, still coming to grips with being a carrier, being infatuated with boys rather than girls, being pregnant, being orphaned….

"Oooh, shi—crap," Ralph murmured, his voice full of sympathetic horror. "I'm sorry. You're a Family boy, right? And if you're carryin', you're here because you got no other choices."

Jared startled when a deep voice at his back said, "Ralph, you fuckin' around in people's private biz again? That's all he does," the man who sat down next to him said, his remark directed at Jared. "Carl," the man said, holding out an equally huge, but paler and heavily-freckled paw to Jared. "You had the dubious pleasure of meetin' my brother here."

Jared bit his lip and nodded, trying to be subtle about staring. Ralph's brother didn't look much like Ralph. He had dark-red hair, and blue eyes so light they almost looked colorless. His skin was pale, his cheeks and nose a windburned red. His cheeks dimpled and his eyes crinkled as he smiled. 

Jared melted under the force of dual smiles. "I'm Jay...pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," Carl said, and with no other explanation or small talk, dug into the aromatic mountain of pepper-speckled hash-browns topped by golden soft-yolked eggs and criss-crossed with strips of perfectly browned and crispy bacon, framed with wedges of toast glazed with dripping pools of glistening butter.

"Oh my—please _move,"_ Jared yelped, desperately elbowing the huge man next to him—he had no time left for polite manners. Carl, thankfully, didn't even ask why, he rose out of his seat lightening-quick to let Jared dash past him to the bathroom. 

Morning sickness was something that came and went in Jared's life—sometimes it was the way certain food looked, or a certain smell would set him off. The sight of that tower of grease and gloopy, runny egg yolks was just—

Jared kicked the bathroom door shut, dropped to his knees over the toilet and began gagging violently. When his insides calmed somewhat, he heard banging on the door, and several voices, the loudest belonging to Lando. "Jay, Jay, Candy is going to take you home, okay?"

"No! I'm fine, I really am, I can work!"

"I know. But I said what I said and everyone knows I'm not to be ignored."

 _"Whatever."_ Jared heard that voice clearly, what with his head tipped back against the bathroom door. That voice belonged to Addie, who was not impressed by anyone, anytime, anywhere. "But he's right Jay, sweetie. Let Candy take you home." 

"I can walk by myself," he muttered, thoroughly irritated at being treated like a child, but thing kicked him over and over inside, and he felt dizzy, so..."Okay. Coming out."

He walked past the customers, cringing, waiting for them to scream at him for being a freak and taking everyone's time, but the looks he got were mostly sympathetic, mostly concerned. He even got a few gentle pats as he moved past the customers tables. One of the older ladies, a tiny little thing with blue hair and a beady-eyed ermine stole wrapped around her thin neck whispered, "Take care," as he passed her. "Don't worry, you'll feel better soon. I remember." 

Jared smiled at her, and then Candy was there, with a small bag in one hand and Jared's coat in the other. She prodded him out the door. 

"Lando sent this with you, it's just broth and some crackers, but it should help. Now, what did I tell you about skipping meals? I told you you can't do that, right?"

Jared just nodded, feeling that his participation in this conversation wasn't really required.

"I'm going to put you in a car, and you're going to tell them to drop you at St. Maggie's, okay?"

"Oh no! It's just a few blocks, I'll walk! Besides, I can't afford a car, Candy." 

"Well," she said, digging in the pink, heart-shaped pocket of her apron,"You can if Carl's paying for it." 

Jared stopped, his throat hurting like he'd swallowed a stone. "I can not have these people all...treating me like I'm a damaged puppy. I'm an adult, on my own, not a charity case. I'm offended by this," Jared said, and pushed Candy's hand, filled with notes, back. "Please tell them to stop. I have some dignity left, you know, despite being—" He swallowed, the stone in his throat shifting and making him feel like he was about to vomit. "—pregnant."

The word was huge and bitter and awful in his mouth.

Candy stared at him, the notes clutched against her chest. She peered at him for longer than was comfortable, and then whistled, loud and sharp. It brought a car screeching to a halt at the curb. "Get in," she said, her voice flat. She pulled open the door, and told the driver to take him straight to St. Maggie's—St. Margret's Shelter, she called it. "And drive carefully," she snapped. 

The driver glanced back at Jared, at his billowy coat and the swell curving the front of it. "Oh." 

Candy reset her cap, which had shifted when she yanked the door open, and fixed Jared with a hot glare. "You don't get a chance to refuse our help. Maybe the rest of the people in your life are for shit, but we care about our own."

"Candy! Language," he muttered, dropping his eyes to the tips of his shoes. "Also...I guess what I meant to say was 'thank you'." he looked up at her, and managed to work up a smile. "Thank you very much. I'm sorry."

"It's okay love, now go on, go home." 

He hesitated just a moment—he was too embarrassed to tell her that he'd actually never ridden in a city car before, but honestly, how hard could it be? He'd ridden on a bus, several times, and ridden in a truck...it couldn't be that much different. 

=+=  


_"HOLERAH!"_ Jared shouted at the top of his lungs as the gray city car headed straight at the side of a trolley, its horn beeping frantically as if the trolley was capable of moving sideways out of the car's path. Its radio screeched and squawked, a few clear words popping out now and then. Jared figured they might have been street directions or possibly eldritch curses howled straight from the Pit. 

The driver looked back at him and grinned before smashing the dashboard. Suddenly instead of the screams of the Fallen, they were being treated to what was possibly meant to be music. With his head still turned from the collision they were about to have with the trolley the driver asked, "Yakety-yak—you know this one?"

All Jared managed in response was a weak gasp, and then the trolley moved and the car darted through the empty space. It barreled on past the tracks, through a narrow alley and by some wild alchemy, they screeched to a stop behind St. Maggie's, near the truck entrance. 

Jared sat quietly for a moment, shaking so hard the soup he carried sloshed against the sides of the clear container he held, the bag having been shredded by Jared convulsive grip. He worked his hand open and held out the crushed notes for the driver, who smiled wide and peeled off a few notes and handed the rest back. 

"We took a short cut to save you a few bucks. Go on and buy the baby some booties. I know you chaps don't have the easiest lives, no matter what the law says. My cousin can tell ya that."

Jared really wanted to say thank you but only bleated weakly. He climbed out of the car and stood in the alley way, trying to regain his balance. Manners won out, and he turned to the car before it could back up and said, "Thank you so much. I hope your cousin is doing well."

The driver's face softened. "Yeah, yeah, he's doing okay." He tilted his head towards St. Maggie's "You landed in a good place, son. You take care, both of ya." 

He backed up down the alley while Jared thanked the Lord fervently that he survived the drive in one piece, and swore he'd never take a ride in a city car ever again. 

When he got upstairs to his attic room the soup was still hot and his stomach was pleasantly still. He sipped the broth and nibbled the crackers when it hit him like the sun bursting through rain clouds.

"I have friends. Real, honest-to-goodness, _friends."_

It was a very good feeling.


	13. Jared made himself a mug of herbal tea and sat in the deep sill of his window

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a short update(again) but I wanted to get it out for my birthday. Failed, but here it is! 
> 
> This note is to warn for unpleasant medical procedures—not graphic, but emotionally cruel towards Jared. I'm also including a reminder that kidfic is not an endgame in this story.
> 
> Enjoy! :D

Jared sat cross-legged on his bed, the weak morning light falling on the innocuous-seeming piece of paper Mrs. Stern had given him before she left to make way for the morning shift. He held it so tightly, it crumbled in his fist. He knew it was probably ridiculous of him to be worried, but the note had so casually announced _another_ change in his life, one that he wasn't so sure about. It seemed simple enough on the surface—the note informed him he was being assigned a different doctor. He knew that a choice of doctor was out of his hands, and really, the shelter was good enough to provide doctors free of charge so it was rather rude of him to question their choices. It was just...why now, he wondered? Why change his doctor now? 

He'd gotten used to Dr. Adler, the spare, silver-haired, old woman who was—who'd _been—_ his doctor, doctor to most of the girls here as well. Dr. Adler had seen him every other week—which had meant seeing him more often than she saw the girls, but she'd said since he was male, no one was taking what he was going through for granted, not on her watch, whatever that meant. Jared thought maybe it was a military term—a tattoo of a bow and arrow crossed by some sort of rifle on her wrist made it plain she'd been military. He was a little sorry for whoever had been on her team, or whatever a group of solders was called—she was a tough, no-fooling-around lady, that one.

So Dr. Adler was serious, humorless, and definitely not one for chit-chat—but despite being taciturn, she freely answered any direct questions. She gave him unambiguous rules to follow, even as she'd warned him that while the average doctor these days had a good working understanding of carriers in general, there were so many things that could go wrong with male carriers. Knowledge concerning their care was always a work in progress. 

"Relatively speaking, there are few male carriers, Jared. To be honest with you, we're not sure if male carrier numbers are dropping, or if their numbers remain level. There are still sections of the population that are convinced male carriers are a crime against nature—" 

She'd made a hooking motion with the index finger on both hands—from the way her lip quirked, he was pretty sure she didn't think too highly of _that_ idea. It made his chest feel less tight. 

"There hasn't been enough research, and that my friend, is a goddamn crime. I'll treat you to the best of my ability, have no doubt about that."

All in all, she'd been gruff but honest, and even caring in a reserved way. He'd really appreciated her, but now she was gone. 

=+=

He'd had one of his restless nights, so this morning in place of his usual coffee, Jared made himself a mug of herbal tea and sat in the deep sill of his window, watching the sun rise as he sipped it. The little courtyard below was slowly starting to lose the bleak look brought on by winter thaw. As much as he hated winter thaw, he did look forward to seeing the little square come back to life—he could see the bones of it, the ice drawing back from the flower beds. He couldn't wait 'til it was in bloom. 

All too soon, it was time to start the day. Jared set his empty cup down with a sigh—and winced. He'd sounded just like Silvia Padalecki for a moment, tired and…he shook his head violently. These were memories he did not want to visit, especially not today. He had enough to worry abut, what with having to deal with another stranger poking and prodding at him.

With his appointment on his mind, Jared took a thorough shower, making sure every bit of him was clean. He was not about to be judged on sketchy hygiene….

=+=

Nerves twisted his stomach into knots, so he skipped breakfast, but stopped in the kitchen to let the staff know he had an unexpected doctor's appointment this morning and he wouldn't be in. He was surprised, and glad that the staff was fine with it—seemed Mrs. Stern had alerted the staff the previous evening. With nothing stopping him, Jared headed to the shelter's small private clinic in an older building—older than St. Margret's—that had once been free-standing, but had been attached to the main hall many years ago. 

What that meant was that the clinic was cold and drafty, with small rooms, windows high on the wall—too high for a view, just wide enough to let air circulate. The thought drifted through his mind that the windows were also too small to climb out of, a ridiculous thought he quickly squelched.

Thank goodness there was a small heater grate on the wall doing its best to pump out warm air, or he would have frozen to death in this little, pea-soup green box made of tiled walls and carpeting that looked like it had been crafted entirely out of dust, flattened and glued to the floor. He had a few seconds to laugh at himself before a knock came at the door; it flew open as the new doctor let himself in, a man Jared had never seen before. 

"Good morning, Jared."

Jared greeted him back and then just couldn't stop himself from asking, "Where is Dr. Adler and her nurse?"

The new doctor looked annoyed, but the expression flitted across his face so quickly, Jared wasn't sure if he was just projecting his own feelings on the man. "Oh, she's still here." At Jared's look, the doctor went on with a sigh. "Dr. Adler and Nurse Spatz have been transferred to the older mothers ward. I'm taking on your case. We look forward to working with you. Now...I'll call the nurse in and we can get started with a thorough exam."

Jared quietly removed his clothes and took the paper gown the nurse handed him. With a deep breath and a brief prayer begging for strength, he lay back on the table. 

"Feet in stirrups, please," the doctor muttered and Jared did as he asked. The doctor didn't explain what he was doing—Jared knew what to expect from all his other exams of course, but apparently this doctor didn't waste time with what was a courtesy that Dr. Adler never minded extending. 

The doctor barked out notes to the nurse, who quickly tapped everything into the electronic book. "He seems slightly bigger than I'd expect at this point of the pregnancy, but he's also rather thinner than normal, so...there are some pigmentation changes here and here, all in normal range..." He pressed down on Jared's belly, ignoring the sharp intake of air; Thing retaliated by kicking Jared squarely in the bladder. 

"No development in breast tissue, also not unusual, failure of the experiment perhaps? Have you experienced any leakage?"

It took a few moments for it to register that the doctor was now talking to him. "No!" Jared barked. Maybe it was stupid of him but it had never occurred to him that such a thing was a possibility. He felt queasy. Holerah! What kind of gobnaw was that? What a horror! He resented this thing enough, was he now going to have to suffer through—through _bosoms_ as well?

The doctor's voice cut through his panicked thoughts, but not in any way meant to be soothing. "It's not unusual for no change to take place at all. There's no real, definitive male carrier—there are so many varying ways in which they present. There really is no 'norm', you know." 

Jared nodded silently. The man sounded cheerful, as if he'd opened a box full of interesting puzzles. Jared was sure the doctor was just thinking out loud, and Jared might as well be a potted plant for all the doctor cared.

The doctor turned away to take a tube-like thing from the metal table at Jared's bedside, bending his knees so that his legs were wider, then guided the tube between his legs. Jared caught a slightly surprised look on the nurse's face, quickly quelled when she caught Jared's eyes. 

The thing piercing him hurt—Jared heard a ratcheting sound, could feel the tube opened wider, and he cried out—it was always uncomfortable to have something in him that way, but this felt like he was being ripped open. 

"Jared, contain yourself—a mature person should demonstrate better self-control than that." 

Jared lay still as possible, biting his lip savagely, hating that tears pooled in the corners of his eyes and ran down his cheeks just because he was laying on his back, that's all, and...and. Jared sniffed quietly, heard the doctor make an irritated noise. It felt as though the doctor pressed harder on his belly. 

He tilted his head back to make the tears stop falling, trying to avoid the eyes of the doctor and nurse as he did so. That position let him see, just on the edge of his eyesight, an enlarged, open version of the electronic books he'd seen in bookstores and offices, tethered to a machine dripping wires. 

Finally the doctor let up. Jared could breathe again, sipping shallow breaths of air. He scrubbed the back of his hand across his face, trying to wipe tears away. The nurse dropped a piece of paper toweling on his chest when the doctor turned away to make some notes. Shamefaced, sure that he'd reacted like a spoiled brat, Jared quietly cleaned up and waited for what was next. 

Next was the doctor dropping a dollop of ice-cold gel on his stomach. The chill startled Jared, likewise the doctor suddenly pressing an ice-cold object, connected to a thick wire, onto his belly. He began moving it over the swell, back and forth, up and down. The pressure distracted Jared at first, but then he heard a small, whooshing sound, and saw movement on the electronic book's screen. He had no idea what it was, a grainy smudge on a black background. 

"Subject is at six months, I see the fetus is small, but no cause for alarm, seems to be common in regards to male pregnancy." 

Fetus...that smudge was Thing. The thing that changed his life. He stared at it, waiting to feel something—hatred, interest, some sense of it belonging to him, _anything_ —but all he felt was an exhausted kind of blankness. That was it. A distant sort of queasy feeling crept around the outside of the blankness, but died away. He realized the sound he heard was a heartbeat. Of course there'd be one. As far as he could tell, it was steady. 

The doctor never addressed any remark to Jared, never explained what he was doing. Jared took what he could from the information the doctor recited for the nurse. Thing seemed healthy. Jared stared at the smudge until his eyes felt dry, and then closed them, waiting for it all to be over.

The exam went on, cold, clinical, and sometimes painful, thoroughly invasive. He was prodded to sitting while the nurse took blood, and then took his blood pressure. It was almost admirable, the way she managed to do that without actually making eye contact. 

With a grunt indicating Jared should get dressed, doctor and nurse left the room. A further ten minutes passed before the doctor returned. He sat at the small desk in the corner of the exam room and poked at the compact electronic book he held. Finally he looked at Jared and asked, "Have you considered what comes after you give birth?"

Jared licked dry lips, his mouth working as he tried to compose an answer, finally stuttered out, "I'm not sure. I've thought about it and. Well, I'm inclined towards giving it up for adoption. If that's possible. If anyone would want it." _If doing so wasn't dodging punishment._

The doctor smiled. "Well, that is very mature—and just the level of common sense I expected from you. Acknowledging you're in no position to take care of a child shows intelligence. I'll bring more information the next time we meet which should be in a month, if all goes well.

Jared was surprised—Dr. Adler had been firm in stating she wanted to see him every two weeks but this doc just tutted. "You're fine. Healthy, well developed. No reason to take up valuable time for unnecessary exams."

He sent Jared off feeling as if he'd barely passed some sort of test. While Dr. Adler hadn't been warm and cozy, she'd never made him feel like a brainless specimen either. Jared shuddered. This was going to be a trial. 

He went home and quickly showered, desperate to get rid of the horrible, squishy feeling between his legs, and the touch of strangers from his skin, then took the trolley to work. He hated to admit that what had been a lovely brisk stroll to work had begun to be an exhausting tramp through a purgatory of gray, wet streets. Winter thaw, the promise of spring, he thought. He hated spring. 

=+=

Other changes were taking place in Jared's life as well, changes that were very much more pleasant than what was going on with his body. 

Jared had friends now. And friends, he knew, visited each other. They took lunch together, they talked about their hopes and dreams, and, okay, Jared had none beyond surviving these next few months, but still—if he'd had the freedom to dream, and if he chose to, he had friends he could share his hopes with. And he wanted to have a friend to visit, like some of the girls here did.

It took a bit of convincing on his part before Mrs. Mond finally agreed to allow Jared to have a visitor—a female visitor—to his room. She'd finally agreed that she was holding onto outmoded ideas of what was proper, that she certainly didn't have to worry about canoodling since female guests were hardly canoodling material for Jared. Jared thought that was a fact obvious to all, but it still took more convincing than he thought it should. 

Eventually, Mrs. Mond caved, and Jared was able to invite his coworker to lunch in his very own room.

=+=

On a lovely, sunny afternoon, Candy walked with Jared to the shelter. Jared carried a bag full of rolls and cookies, cheese and luncheon meat, which was thin slices of roast beef, or of chicken, or ham. They called it a fancy name, but the sandwiches they made were the same kind they made in his former community. He would have bought all that himself, was certainly prepared to. However Lando, who was an enormous busybody, had forced it all on him, claiming that he'd just have to throw it away if Jared wouldn't take it. He did let Jared buy two slices of cake, which Jared took as a victory for his dignity.

Sunny as the day was, it was still early spring, which meant it was also rather chilly; they were both red-nosed and tingling with the cold by the time they walked up the stone steps. Jared stood ready to lead Candy in through St, Margaret's big, slightly intimidating doors, but she stopped a moment to read the inscription carved above the doors. " _'Shelter the little poor ones.'_ Hunh. You know, I've lived close by all my life, but never ever stopped to actually look at this building? I always felt like I'd be intruding."

"Well, now you're here as my guest."

"That's true," she smiled. They walked in and of course, they had to cross the dining hall, mercifully almost empty on a Saturday mid-morning. There was a low hiss, as if someone had dropped a bag of snakes in the hall, or as if a few dozen busy-body girls were gossiping about him before he'd even made his way to the steps leading to the attic. 

Candy followed Jared up the narrow staircase, through the narrow little door that Jared had to tilt his head down in order not to brain himself walking in. They stepped out into his room at a _perfect_ moment. The sun sent long bars of soft lemon-tinted light over his striped rug, turning the colors to jewel tones. His bed was neat, his new blanket tucked tight around it, and the extra pillows—an extravagance the Family would have thought was a decadent, sinful waste, which of course made them even more lovely—set carefully on top. He'd cleaned and shined everything, and set a vase of flowers on his dresser top. He'd made some room at the little table (that did double duty as his desk) to set a couple of dishes and glasses out for them to enjoy a nice lunch. He turned back to her, proud of what he'd made out of his little corner of the world, only to catch the look of shock on Candy's face.

"Oh my gosh, you live in an attic. You're pregnant and single and you live in an attic!"

Jared's heart broke; his face burned with embarrassment. What a fool he was, showing off this poor room. He looked around again, and saw that his dresser was chipped and gouged, the curtains in his window were obviously some old sheets cut to fit, his worn blanket was only new to him and...and….

Candy grabbed him into a chest-crushing hug. 

"Oh my god, I love you _so_ much. You are _so_ brave." She let him go and looked around. "And you've made this attic into a beautiful little home, Jay."

He looked at the bed's gray and yellow blanket that was second-hand, okay, but it was so soft and clean. Looked at the bright yellow vase on the dresser, holding a few stalks of flowers from the courtyard garden. They filled the room with the scent of hyacinth. There was a picture of mountains, carefully cut from a magazine and tacked to the wall, next to another of a stream threading through a green meadow. Jared knew that in this room, he felt warm and safe and his friend thought it was nice, too. Jared laughed along with her when she grabbed him by the arms, and danced around the room with him. 

Gasping and giggling, she finally let him go, and they sat together at the little table. While they ate, Jared shared where he'd found his treasures, and how much he enjoyed decorating a space all his own, something he'd never known before. Candy was a good listener, knowing when to speak up, knowing when all Jared needed was a nod, or a soft, sympathetic hand over his.

"Jay, this is _so_ comfy, and St. Maggie's is _so_ great, but you need a place that's really all your own, nobody looking over your shoulder—except us, of course. And maybe sooner rather than later—I saw the looks we got when we came in and let me tell you, those girls are for shi—shinola."

Jared thought about not ever having to deal with cold shoulders and whispered insults, of being able to come and go as he pleased, but... "I don't think so,"Jared said. "This is good. I like having people around." Sort of, he thought. The only people here who cared about him were Mrs. Mond and Mrs. Stern. Maybe...maybe looking for a place his alone was something that bore thinking about. Later. 

Candy smirked, like she was reading his mind. She flipped back her ponytail in that way she had that said she'd won the last word. They shared a slice of cake between them, and while Jared was pouring coffee, said, "Oh hey, Lando wants to extend our hours for the holiday—are you able to take extra hours?"

"Holiday?"

"Yeah, sure, Freedom Day. You know." She narrowed her eyes at him, tiny snub nose wrinkling as she studied him. 

"I...don't?" he replied, confusion making his statement more of a question. "What is a freedom day?"

"Not _a_ freedom day, _the_ Freedom Day! When we united with Europa, and formed the Western Pact?" Candy continued at Jared's wrinkled brow. "Then we joined with Pacificana, and Etheop, which finally ended the war?" 

Jared just stared, and she went on incredulously, "The end of world-wide war between nations, when we created the Pledge of the Two Hundred Year Peace?" 

She stared at him, eyebrows raised, then nodded and smiled when Jared finally reacted. 

"Oh!" Right. He'd heard of the War Between Nations. He knew that war was a sinful pursuit, that many nations had gone against the will of the Lord and set themselves above his teaching. He knew that the war had brought illness, and plague...and birthed monsters and chimera, like himself. He knew that the nations had vowed two hundred years of peace, and that the vow itself was sinful because only the Lord could grant peace. Jared shrugged. 

"We were taught things important to our lives. Outsider history and their conflicts had little to do with us. What I know about the war is that the Elders went to the president of the nation at that time, and explained that not taking part in armed conflict was the law given to us by the Lord, and after that, we never had to concern ourselves with this nation's wars again. In our—in the communities, it was charged there be prayers for the souls of those sinners at every meeting of the Families forever."

Candy sat across the table, elbows planted firmly and her chin propped on her hands. She nodded—when she spoke, it was nothing like what Jared expected. He'd been sure she was going to say something about how war was a necessary evil, or that the Families owed the country their help, something like that, but no. She just sighed softly and said, "It's hard being different, isn't?"

There was something in her voice, her eyes, that made Jared want to share with her, personal things that were none of her business and he had no idea why he was even bringing it up, but—

"My grandfather came to Mountain Grove from the Outside. It's rare, but it happens, _if_ an outsider can show definitely that they whole-heartedly bend their neck to the Lord and come to Family then…" he wound down, staring at his feet. "I overheard m-my—mother and father talking about him," he whispered, shamed that he'd spied on his parents, however inadvertently; ashamed that he knew something about the family that no one else knew. A shameful bit of family history—until he came long, that is. "I think that's why I'm different than the rest of them."

Candy nodded, her expression softening even more. "I think I get it, sort of. My granddad came here from a small city off an island of Pacificana, not long after The Two Hundred Year pledge was formed. Things were difficult for him—we looked different, and sometimes people treated granddad badly because of it. Not that many years had passed since Pacificana was the enemy, and people held that against him, too. Eventually, times changed, they're still changing." 

She twisted a section of her thick black hair so tightly around her finger that Jared reached out to stop her—she let it drop, and shrugged. "Anyway, that's the holiday...so! Let's see what we can do to introduce you to the fun parts of it!" 

She quickly shook off the somber mood and reverted back to her sunny personality, and that helped Jared forget all about his grandfather, whom he'd never met, helped him ignore his thoughts of Family, and even the Thing in his gut. He decided enough with counting down his days of freedom—at least for today. 

He smiled wide and said, "Alright, Candy, show me what we do to celebrate."

=+=


	14. Freedom Day, it turned out, was quite a lot of fun.

Freedom Day, it turned out, was quite a lot of fun. Working his shift-and-a-half certainly took a toll on his back and feet, but his apron pocket was stuffed with tips _"just because",_ and person after person wished him a joyous Freedom Day, usually followed by a hug. His cheeks were positively sore with little-old-lady kisses—he was beginning to reek of lavender and Shalimar.

As his shift's end came closer, he realized he had _dozens_ of buttons pinned to him. He'd gotten them from diners, from busboys, from the other servers, even from Lando; they'd all given him their buttons in honor of this being his first official Freedom Day. He stared down at his overladen apron. He tapped a pencil against his apron—at this point, he was pretty sure the darn thing could deflect bullets.

He studied the first button he'd been gifted—a silly thing nearly the size of a saucer that Lando had pinned on him. The design was clever, though: a stylized apple blossom between two up-swept wings, over a split globe showing Eastern and Western hemispheres. Under the design was a simple _200._ Lando told him this was not only the official Freedom Day design, it was the flag of the Western Pact. It was quite stirring, really, very dramatic, very beat-the-swords-into-plowshares. It was also all a bit much to take in for someone who'd grown up with their entire world-view wrapped around 'America' with the rest of the world being a vague, foggy sort of idea. 

The rest of his buttons were simpler designs; just the globes, or wings alone. By far the most popular were tiny things printed with simple apple blossoms. Along with their buttons, many of the diner patrons had a paper blossom tucked in a button hole, or pinned to their lapels or hats. Candy told him the blossoms were a symbol of peace. Jared liked that. Addie and Candy tried to coax him into copying them, with their paper blossoms tucked in their hair.

"Pregnant," he snapped, pushing away their little crepe offerings, "but still not a girl." And not a wet blanket, no matter how much they whined he was.

=+=

It was the last few minutes of his shift; Jared was weaving his way through the crowd, balancing a tray of dirty dishes, on his way to the kitchen. He caught Ralph signaling at the corner of his eye and nodded. He dropped his tray off and made his way back to Ralph and Carl's table, puffing away and sweating rivers—Thing was doing him no favors, and the unusually large crowd was overcoming the cooling fans. He slapped his palms down on the table, leaning there with a grateful groan. It felt darn good not to be moving.

"What can I help you with, sir?" he teased and Ralph snorted, tucked a few bills into Jared's pocket, the third time that evening. Stonily ignoring Jared's protests he grumped, "This is movie money. I don't give a shi—crap if you're pregnant—you're not dead. Get out and have some young people fun. Go to the movies, go eat someplace better than this dump, hit a club or whatever the kids are doing these days." 

Carl gulped the last of his coffee and smacked the mug down on the table, waving off Jared's wince. "For once the man is makin' sense. Go be a kid, Jay."

Jared blushed and nodded, almost undone by their kindness. Holerah—these guys were as bad as a pair of doting uncles. Deep down of course, he sort of loved it. It was nice to be made a fuss over sometimes.

=+=

As soon as Lando locked the doors for the evening, Addie pushed and prodded Jared onto a trolley that would take them to the city center, ignoring his only-partially serious protests. "Yes, Jay, we'll be back by bedtime," she said when Jared asked. 

"Oh my—you are so full of horse manure," Jared snapped. 

"Horse manure?" she laughed. "Look at you being all wicked and citified—almost cursing! Next we'll have you smoking and drinking," she crowed, and laughed some more at the scandalized look Jared gave her—which lasted until Jared had to laugh as well. 

Not more than a few steps off the trolley, he had to loosen his scarf, dabbed at the beads of sweat tickling his forehead. He was always a little too warm nowadays, courtesy of Thing. It was warmer in general since he'd first slunk off the bus in Nice; spring was reaching out to summer—slowly. The wind whipping through the streets seemed to be alternately warm and cold, as unsettled temperature-wise as he was. Still, it brought the scent of growing things twined in with the usual smell of the city—food, people, concrete, exhaust—Jared swiped at his nose, then blinked as he actually took in the city transformed for Freedom Day. 

City Center was a veritable tornado of sound and color, crashing against them as they made their way through surging crowds, waves of people rushing at them, then breaking to move around them in a way that was just dizzying. 

"Follow me," Addie shouted, as if Jared had any plan at all of letting the woman out of his sight for a darn minute—to ensure that, he hooked his fingers in the ends of her scarf, stuck his tongue at her when she looked back and rolled her eyes. "Really?"

"Oh, shush—this way I won't lose you."

She swooped and whirled around the people, and Jared jogged after, in absolute awe of Addie's skills—against the push and pull of too many people, she managed to snag them food and drink from the handcarts wobbling through the crowds, and did so with the finesse of an angler. She was also thoughtful enough to stop often so Jared could take a desperately needed breath. He appreciated that most of those stops were next to washroom tubes. The Thing took a positively sadistic glee in dancing on his poor bladder.

They were halted again at the moment, thank the Lord. Jared flexed his aching calves and toes as they sat on a park bench, nibbling on giant, hot pretzels. He was enjoying the sight of a wildly colorful band float passing by in the street. The air rang with exotic music, all clashing symbols and frantic guitars, the dancers flinging hips and arms and elbows like mad and it was a miracle they didn't knock each other off the float.

Dozens and dozens of young people danced In the street, trailing behind the band floats. Jay noticed that many of them were in uniform, arm in arm in the constant rain of brightly colored bits of paper. Seeing them reminded Jared of his first sight of a giant military base craft in those first few days he'd arrived in Nice, how frightening and overwhelming they seemed—still did. A shiver ran down his spine at the memory of the ponderous ship moving silently over head, followed by buzzing aircraft. Now, he had to fit the memory of those frightening but majestic ships together with the sight of giggling, half-drunk, uniformed boys and girls stumbling through the streets, their hands full of free food, hair practically bristling with paper blossoms and faces smeared with kisses.

Were these undisciplined fools really the people who staffed those ships? The Lord help them all if this peace of theirs ever fractured...

He was glad when Addie moved them on; he was much more interested in the shops she was towing them towards. She made a bee-line to one, a marquee-type sign over the wide doorway advertising 'World Cafe', with little yellow, blinking, lightening bolts dancing on and off across it. The cafe was packed with revelers crammed against the busy counter, shouting their orders, trying to talk over the other. The constant noise and motion all around him was exhausting. Jared wished Addie could have found a quieter place to take a break. Should he suggest heading back home?

He decided against it, not wanting to ruin her night, so he waited, trying not to fidget, as she fought the crowd to order for them—a tall, sweet, frothy coffee concoction for her, and a disgusting Sanka with a splat of milk and a few grains of sugar for Jared, because Addie was a cruel busybody. He forgave her somewhat when she waved a plate holding fresh, sugary doughnuts under his nose, before hustling them to a free table.

He sank down gratefully, grabbing a doughnut and spraying the metal table with sugar. He scooted his chair closer when he saw the table couldn't move—it was bolted down. It actually looked more like a desk than a table, and chained to the top was a small clunky, beige metal box. They sat side-by-side, sharing the hot doughnuts and when they were gone, Addie smiled, pushed his coffee to one side and said,"And now, young Jay," cracking her knuckles like she planned to play a piano, "let us expand your horizons."

She took a couple of coins from her purse and fed them into a slot set into the side of the box. 

"Buying the coffees got us a half hour of comp use. It's fifty cents for each fifteen minutes after—knowing you, I'm sure we'll use every cent of it." She smiled wide and said, "This cafe is my favorite—it's cleaner than most and they also have pretty decent food."

Jared shuddered at the thought that this was one of the cleaner places, but his attention was locked on the box. Addie said their drinks bought them comp use—what did that mean, exactly? 

Suddenly, the box beeped and the front panel popped loose. Addie pulled it down to reveal a screen that flickered into life with a musical chiming sound. 'Fifteen additional minutes of use per coin' scrolled across the front.

Jared jumped, hand flying to his mouth in surprise. "Oh...gosh." It was some form of minicomp, like the staff used, like he'd been itching to get his hands on _forever._ Jared fixed Addie with a pleading look. "Won't you show me how to use this?"

"Of course! I've seen the way you stare at the minicomps like you want to have deep, personal, possibly _unnatural_ relationships with them…"

"I'm going to pray for you—a lot," Jared muttered, and yelped when she poked him with a finger as stiff and pointy as a knitting needle.

"Now, pay attention. Take notes." She winked, and then ran her fingers over the buttons and the screen came to life—the same symbol that was on Lando's button flashed over the screen first, and then Addie punched keys and explained as scene after scene flashed across the screen; a free classroom in some distant city, where a teacher was lecturing about a painting for her unseen class, a trip through a valley in a faraway rain forest, news, so much news, a theatrical play Addie said had been recorded at an earlier time and was now showing free for people anywhere. 

"Watch this." Addie clicked a few buttons, and the screen filled with the most adorable kittens tumbling out of a box and all over each other. It really was magic. 

The screen chimed again, became a green square warning them that their time was up—an hour had flown by.

Addie patted the top of the box and said, "The minicomps are like the not-very-smart cousins of these fellows. With these, you can travel the world, see anything, learn anything—what you saw this hour was the tiniest peek through the door." 

Jared sat slowly back in his chair, clutching the cold cup of Sanka to his chest, his mouth open... _totally_ overwhelmed by what he'd experienced. He gulped his fake coffee in reflex, set it down with a grimace. He looked up at Addie and sighed. "What an _incredible_ device—it's truly magic. And anyone can use it?"

"Anyone with tokens, sweetie. The library does have a free machine to use, but this is more fun—no restrictions." She winked, and Jared huffed. He had no idea what she meant, but he was will to bet it was mortifying. 

=+=

They were distracted by a commotion at the cafe's entrance. A group of uniformed boys were mock-fighting, blocking the doorway, laughing at the annoyed servers who were flittering around them, trying to shoo them away. Jared shook his head. What a disappointment these uniformed boobs turned out to be. Rude, vulgar, tall, and...and their uniform pants were way too tight, and their jackets were sinfully fitted...they were just embarrassing, really. No manners whatsoever.

"Soldiers." he tutted and shook his head. He was glad he didn't have to spend time with any of that crowd. He followed Addie through the entrance, reaching up to wrap his scarf around his neck to ward off the sudden gust of cold wind that flung open his coat and exposed his belly to the cold; winced when he realized he'd just elbowed someone. Before he could apologize, he heard the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat, then spitting. Eyes down, he saw where the glob of phlegm hit the sidewalk, right at the toe of his boot—quite a marksman. 

"Watch it, ya fuckin' freak."

Jared froze, his whole being reduced a single, screaming, flayed nerve. He felt violently emptied of everything but the life-sucking tumor in his middle, weighing him down, sucking him dry, pulling him into darkness—he heard freak freak _freak FREAK FREAK—_

A cry of pain shook him loose from the awful loop his mind had taken and threw him back onto the icy city street. A voice behind him yelled, "What in hell, you fuckster—stop hitting me, jack."

The anger in the voice drove Jared away from it, away from the screaming crowd. His mind cleared; he realized it wasn't 'freak' they were screaming, it was "Drink, drink, drink!" 

Didn't matter. What he'd thought he heard echoed in his head, panic weakened his knees—he was alone in a crowd with no one to help. He almost burst into tears when the electric blue of Addie's scarf came into sight, through the racket all around him, he heard her calling, "Jay! Jay!" 

She sounded as panicked as he felt, and he dashed towards her voice, calling her name. She apologized over and over for losing him, and he just held on and let the crowd surge around them. He was safe….

He didn't tell her what had happened, and it took a few nights before he could finally sleep without nightmares again.

=+=

"Jay, do you have a few minutes to meet with me in my office?"

"Sure, of course." Jared tucked his broom into a corner, and hurried over to follow Mrs. Mond. She was frowning slightly, but not in a way that made Jared worry about himself—he worried about Mrs. Mond. "Is everything all right?" he asked.

"What—oh, oh yes, thank you honey, everything is fine. It's just...the new doctor wants to see you."

"But I just _saw_ him. I mean, he said I only needed to see him once a month." Jared tried to keep his tone light—he didn't want to seem ungrateful, but the Lord knew he wanted to spend as little time as possible with that ice-cold fish. 

She nodded, a thoughtful frown deepening the furrow between her brows. She tilted her head in the general direction of her office. "So, let's talk." 

As always, walking into her office was walking into a warm, safe cocoon. The room was always bright; even on a day like like this one, with the light muted by a gray and watery afternoon, her office radiated coziness. He took a few moments to settle in the over-stuffed chair pulled up to her desk, idly looking about as she shuffled through the files and papers on her desk. His gaze danced over the dozens of pictures of her children and grandchildren. He loved her family pictures—at this point, felt almost as if they were his—all those beautiful people, all sporting Mrs. Mond's smile. 

It had come as a surprise to Jared to find that Outsiders were really no different when it came to the importance of family. Maybe even better, he thought sadly, catching sight Mrs. Mond's latest addition to the gallery: two young men wrapped around each other, one as brown and portly as Mrs. Mond, bearing the trademark family smile, the other short and blond and obviously family by way of marriage. A photograph that was set smack dab in the middle of all the others family pictures...he sighed, and was startled to have his sigh echoed by her. 

Mrs. Mond turned from her desk to get coffees for the both of them. He was surprised she gave him a cup of real coffee, but she just rolled her eyes and made a shooshing motion.

Sitting again, she said, "I'm surprised that you have another appointment so soon. So does Charlotte, and Aggie, and—" She shuffled quickly through the cards stacked on her desk, picked one up and peered at it. "Naomi." She tapped the cards against her palm. "All under sixteen, hunh…"

Jared blinked at her, pressing his lips tightly together. For a moment, it seemed like she'd forgotten he was there, then she blinked as well and looked uncomfortable. 

"Jared, honey, I overstepped. I shouldn't have mentioned the girls. Can we, oh dear, not mention this to anyone?" 

She looked so flustered that Jared could only nod, and she relaxed a little, looking less like an extremely troubled sparrow. "Now, where in the world is my minicomp…" Pushing aside some papers and files that lay scattered across her perpetually untidy desktop, she unearthed her minicomp. "Great, now where's that goshdarn dynapen—ah-ha!" 

She held the silver stylus in the air, waving it in triumph, and Jared couldn't help but chuckle at the glee in her voice. She grinned back at him. "Now, I have other, much more pleasant news to talk about. You're doing so well in your classes, and moving along so quickly, your instructors want to move you up again. I agreed. There's no reason why you should take classes that aren't challenging you, don't you think?"

Jared nodded, though personally, he was just fine with his non-challenging courses seeing as how he had challenges in every other aspect of his life, like working all night when his back was killing him, and working next to a group of girls who would rather pretend he didn't exist. Getting up all hours of the night to pee, trying to get feet the size of blimps into his shoes, and being so gosh-dang holerah hungry all the peanuts time and constantly being nagged at to switch his beloved coffee to _Sanka_ which was a brew concocted by the devil—

"Jay! Jay! Are you listening?"

"I...ye...no?"

"Oh my goodness. Never mind, pregnancy brain, I understand."

Her casual remark and eye roll made Jared bristle. He hated being dismissed in that way, his feelings relegated to some side effect of pregnancy—as if the most important thing about him was that he was pregnant.

"Never mind, honey. I'll get you a packet from your instructors and we'll get you set for the next—no, you'll be jumping _two_ levels to Gamma! I'm so proud of you, Jay."

Gamma level? Gamma level? But that was only one level away from completing Secondary...to tell the truth, the idea was somewhat frightening. He was fifteen, sixteen next year, and next year would be his last level, instead of giving him one more year to decide what to do with his life. That is, if he had a choice of being anything other than Thing's caretaker. Gamma….

"Mind you, just because you're not graduating your level with your classmates doesn't mean we can't celebrate." She got up to take a covered tray from the credenza that held her electric coffee percolator, and unveiled it in front of Jared with a graceful flourish. "Ta-da!"

It was a slice of cake, topped with cream and a handful of hot-house strawberries—Jared's favorite. Truthfully though, these days everything edible was his favorite. Mrs. Mond set a mug down next to his plate, held her hand up when Jared's eyes went wide and he grinned with pleasure. "I know what you're thinking," she said, picking up a ceramic pot and starting to pour, "but it's not more coffee. It is hot chocolate though, so I hope that's a suitable substitution. I don't feel comfortable giving you more than one cup of coffee, sorry!"

Jared made a face like he was grudgingly accepting this non-coffee interloper in his cup and Mrs. Mond laughed.  
"Too late, darlin'. I know what a massive sweet tooth you have!" She laughed as she ladled a heaping spoon of whipped cream into his cup. Jared could only grin. The woman knew him well. 

"Happy graduation to your new class, Jay. We all are so proud of you."

=+=

The doctor's office was as dreary and cold as Jared remembered. He sat on the only chair in the room, groaning quietly as his back took a few creaky seconds to decide how it felt about sitting. He hoped it wasn't going to be a long wait. He hoped he wasn't going to need any kind of invasive exam. He just didn't have the spirit for that today. He crossed his long legs, then cursed under his breath when it was too uncomfortable them crossed—in fact, it was getting uncomfortable to keep them closed. He was just straightening up again, when the door flew open, and the doctor breezed in. Jared noted that Dr. Adler had always knocked. This guy was plain rude. 

"Now, Jared,' he said, still nose-down in a file, "I've asked you here to—" he looked up and did a double-take at finding no one on the table. He looked around and frowned when he saw Jared sitting in the chair instead of perched obediently on the table. Jared hated sitting on the table because of the way his feet dangled in the air like a little kid's. It gave him a little spark of satisfaction to see the doctor's irritation. 

"If you wouldn't mind taking a seat on the table," the doctor's frosty tone let Jared know _exactly_ how the man felt about him not being where he thought Jared should be. Jared shrugged, and lumbered up on the table, turning a blank stare on the doctor when he settled. 

The doctor seemed a little flustered at Jared's lack of submissiveness, but hid it quickly. _What an enormous...asshole!_ Jared thought. He sat for a moment, sort of rolling the word around in his mind, and decided, he liked it. It didn't seem as awful to him as it did to these Outsiders—maybe it was the fact that city dwellers had basically a passing relationship with nature and all her sticky, odorous glory. Still, he knew the intent of the word applied to a pants like the doctor, and it was darn satisfying.

Jared was given a cursory exam, his temperature and blood pressure taken while the doctor read questions from his minicomp in an uninterested monotone, asking if Jared was eating healthy foods, avoiding caffeine...his words became a meaningless drone that Jared either nodded or shook his head to in the appropriate spot, until the man said something that clicked. 

"June, and next visit we'll set the date for a cesarean. It's fairly standard procedure with carriers."

But nothing Jared had discussed with any doctor yet. He was shocked, but not particularly worried. He'd survive this or not. He glanced down at his rounded midsection and his mouth twisted into a little half-smile. He was betting on himself to survive. Whether that would be a blessing or not was still to be determined. 

"Jared, we touched on this at our last consult. Have you given any further thought to what we spoke about? Unfortunately, I neglected to bring the information I spoke of last visit."

"Adoption? Honestly, no...well, sort of. I'm not sure yet. I can't decide whether that'd be the right thing to do or not," he said, keeping to himself the part where he was still torn as to whether he deserved the freedom adoption would give him. He just...it was hard. If he didn't do it, he'd have to live with the constant reminder of where he'd gone wrong, and even though everyone around him seemed to think he hadn't gone wrong—and he knew now, that he hadn't. He saw evidence all the time that he was a freak, in being a carrier and being attracted to men. At least he knew it when he was thinking logically. When he refused to let the teachings of his former life bury him in guilt.

His eyes filled. Why, if being a carrier was such an abomination, did they even exist? Is that all life was, series of unfair tests—

"Jared! You have the attention span of a gnat, a not very bright one at that. I think you should give deep consideration tothe option of adoption. A child deserves a mature parent who will be constantly attentive to its needs, not just when it suits you to be."

Jared flushed a bright red, somewhat embarrassed, but mostly furious. He opened his mouth to apologize, but startled himself by what came out; certainly he startled the doctor. Again. "I'll have a decision when it's born, not until then. That's all I have to say." Whether to keep it and suffer the punishment, or whether to hold it blameless and release it to hopefully have a full and better life than what he could give it was his choice to make, and this pants heartless piece of—of— _doctor_ would just have to wait until then to put a neat little ribbon around his case.

The doctor stood. "I see. Well, that's all for now. I'll see you next month." He made a note on his minicomp, his mouth screwed into a tight, disgruntled line. He glanced at Jared as he pulled his sweater back on and frowned even more as if he personally hated both Jared and his beloved sweater. Anyone who could frown at this sweater like that...Jared drew his hand over the cloud soft material...well, that was proof that the man was a giant asshole. 

=+=

_Dear Mr. Jim Beaver,_

_I hope all is well with you! I attended a Freedom Day event in the city. It was new to me, though I'm sure you must have seen many. Not that I'm trying to say you're old of an age By that I mean you have probably enjoyed a few. It was very interesting, very instructive. I found out that there is never really any escape from your mistakes._

_I'm happy to be able to send you a payment for the items I stole from you, and again, hope that someday you will pardon me. I also thank you for being, however unwilling, a friend and a shoulder to lean on. The more ponderous I get, the harder life gets. I've seen the disgusted looks aimed my way and I pretend I don't. But I also see the smiles, and hear the well wishes, and you know, I feel like such a phony when I smile back. I'm not devastated, but I'm not exactly happy. I've given up on any hope I ever will be._

_How I wish I could see your face. I have this image of you that you might find unflattering but it brings me such comfort. I wonder if you'd understand?_

_I'm sorry to constantly whine in these letters, but Mr. Jim, you have no idea how much better it makes me feel. Here's a bit of good news, I think. I have been advanced to Gamma level. I'm worried, but also, excited. I almost feel honored! I had a little celebration, that was so nice. See there? Not everything in my life is doom and gloom._

_Mr. Jim, I swear, one day I'll be brave enough to include a return address. Until then, you should know that your wonderful sweater is being shown just as much love and care as you showed it. Happy Belated Freedom Day._

_Sincerely,  
(and hoping I'm not being too bold by saying it) Your friend, Jay_


	15. He lay blinking up into the darkness, trembling so hard his cot shuddered with the force of it.

Jared's racing heart tumbled him out of sleep. He lay blinking up into the darkness, trembling so hard his cot shuddered with the force of it. A few seconds passed before he felt it; his pajama pants were glued to his body—wet, rapidly cooling, and thoroughly disgusting. _'What happened…?_

He plucked at the tacky fabric, sleepy-slow and confused as to what was going on—until outrageous images bloomed in his mind. He shot upright, clapping his hands to his mouth. "Oh... _shoot._ What is wrong with me?"

He wanted to flop back down, throw himself into sleep and not _think,_ but his body kept reminding him of hands on his skin, soft, and warm, of lips traveling up his neck to latch onto that awful, evil patch right below the hinge of his jaw that felt—

"Ungh." He winced, the punch of desire the thought brought making his rod throb uncomfortably. Memory was so clear regarding the hands: the shape, the warmth, the weight on his skin; the mouth, how soft, wet, demanding. He remembered all that, but not a face, there'd been none he could make out. He'd only felt the lips, felt eyelashes flicking over him. Warm, wet, mouth on his body and a strong, confident hand on him, playing intimately with his foreskin, his balls, working him to a shattering release. He'd felt that mouth against his ear, chuckling warmly, fondly, _intimately..._ in his dream.

In real life, he got to have his dumb self alone in a cold cot with clammy pants clinging to his huge belly and his pubic hair glued flat against him. 

"Holerah. _Shi—ooot._ " He pulled his shabby, old robe from a hook, gathered his toiletries and shuffled off to the drab closet of a bathroom that was available to him. Ugly, but private. 

=+=

"That was. Nasty. Weird," he muttered, as he scrubbed ferociously at his skin, rubbing a wet cloth between his legs like they'd betrayed him in some way. Weird because whoever had touched him in his dream had felt familiar, even though he had no idea who it was, what they looked like. He'd only ever kissed two people in his life; this kiss wasn't like those, this had felt good and warm and safe and...exciting. Their touch was exciting. 

"Obviously exciting," he snarled, scrubbing _that_ evidence away. And despite the rough cloth and the now cold water, his lately always-needy, always-greedy body was reminding him how it'd _felt._ How warm and strong that hand was, and how much his rod had liked it; liked it now, greedy thing. Jared sighed in defeat as he leaned against the shower wall. Let out a little moan as one hand traced his length, and after an uncertain moment, the other hand drifted behind, fingers running over his hip, the curve of his ass, and into the cleft. He shuddered, couldn't pretend that it didn't feel good...one finger played at the tight furl, pressing in as it reluctantly relaxed while he pulled at his rod. 

Quiet little grunts were forced out of him as he pushed past resistance and inside, surprised as always at the heat, the smooth, velvety grip. He pulled out, rocking his finger before pushing back in, loving the feel of his rim giving way. 

Bits of the dream flickered through his mind; he saw tanned skin, the smooth, high curve of a cheek...Jared groaned, loud enough to echo through the tiny room. The sound startled him into biting his lip. "Shhhh, you gluepig," he hissed at himself, pinched his lower lip tight between his teeth; he concentrated on calling up as much as he could of the dream boy with the smooth cheek, the long lashes….

Jared tilted his head back against the wall, his hand on his rod speeding up, finger plunging in, faster, adding another, and another—stretching himself just to the point of pain— _farmer hands,_ he thought, _tanned skin,_ he thought, and came, and slipped on the tiled floor. 

"Yow!" His flailing hands almost yanked the shower curtain off the metal rings holding it on the rod. Water sprayed everywhere, and it took a few minutes before his hammering heart stilled, and then of course the Thing kicked him right in the lungs. This shower had been the worst idea….

Jared huffed grumpily as he cleaned spunk from his belly—again. He was darn tired, achy, and still just a little...what did Candy call it...horny. Which was supposed to be perfectly normal and expected considering his state and the Lord take him straight away if he ever had another conversation like that again. Girl's night, his right foot. It had just been an excuse to get together, eat up his cookies and interrogate him on his non-existent love life. And vastly, horribly, overshare about their own. 

Girls. He shook his head and yanked his robe closed, stumbling around the bathroom. Cold now, damp, and so darn tired he could barely keep his eyes open, Jared gathered his toiletries and shuffled back to his room He was determined to sleep his last few hours before dawn, what with looking forward to a full day of kitchen duty, the diner, and classes. 

He shut his door and threw on fresh sleep clothes, before falling back onto his bed. At least, it couldn’t get any worse, he thought, trying to fluff up a pillow stuffed with dust-bunnies and cobwebs. _Thank the Lord for small mercies._

=+=

Jared slowed at the threshold of a cheerfully decorated room, clutching the ends of his red scarf—even at the height of spring the days were still a bit cool for him. He'd wrapped the scarf so it covered everything from his neck to his pointy, ice-cube nose. He found it so cold he was still wearing socks to bed at night and sleeping in long sleeve shirts and it was ridiculous, because Before Thing, he'd been a gosh-darn furnace all the time. Now his toes were like icicles and...and….

He flushed bright red when he realized he'd been ruminating about the weather and his feet while standing in the classroom doorway, a roomful of strangers staring at him. 

The classroom was packed _full_ of carriers. Jared blinked. Oh. Okay, not packed, no...but still, the little group of men here were more carriers than he’d ever imagined seeing. Just...pregnant men, all of them _so_ pregnant. Jared's hand floated down to his stomach, cupping the aching weight in one hand for a brief moment, before his face twisted and he yanked his hand away.

The reason he was in this carriers' birthing class was because of some gentle but determined arm-twisting on Mrs. Stern's part. And her partner in crime, of course. With the double weight of their expectations, she and Mrs. Mond had convinced Jared that the free evening program for young carriers Nice Medical Center held every Wednesday would be just the thing for him. Mrs. Stern advised him that while the birthing classes were voluntary, it really was in his best interest to attend. They were provided free of charge, by the state, and it would give him a chance to get to know people who shared something unique with him and around about the thirty minute mark of their pep talk, he'd fallen asleep in his mind….

Personally, Jared thought the state should keep its nose out of his business, but thinking about it logically, he supposed the classes made sense. Searching the comp's InConnect had provided some information, certainly. Jared now had a clearer picture of what to expect than what the doctor had given him. _And_ why a c-section was probably the best course of action. Those long-ago scientists might have forced Nature to be more generous with her gift of fertility, but she'd done nothing about unyielding pelvic bones. He'd nearly fainted at that discovery.

No, he could definitely see there'd be benefit in talking to other carriers. Maybe he'd feel a little less like a freak. As soon as Jared had the thought, he chased it back into the box it'd popped out of. He was _not_ a freak, and he didn't feel like one...very much. What he really was, was lonely. Though thinking that made him feel guilty, considering all the friends he'd made. It was hard to explain, the way loneliness twined through all his good feeling and left him wanting...something. It was the kind of lonely that the people around him, despite being so dear to him, couldn't ease.

Now here he was, standing in this doorway, looking at all the different faces, the different shades of skin and types of hair and…and different from him, but the same...but for one thing. They were with partners. They sat on colorful mats scattered across the floor, leaning against other men and in one case, a girl. All staring at Jared with with curiosity, and then, dawning sympathy in their eyes.

They all had something in common, despite their differences. They were all exactly the same in this one thing, and Jared was _not_ and would never be. They were happy and in love. They wanted this, but Jared, Jared _hated_ it. 

The instructors greeted him, one woman, one man; Jared knew from the pamphlet Mrs. Mond gave him that the smiling man was a carrier. It was all too much. Jared swung around and practically ran down the hall, down the stairs and out of the hospital doors. 

=+=

He'd had to explain to Mrs. Stern that he would not be attending those classes, because Mrs. Mond had a streak of cruelty she'd somehow managed to hide behind that apple-cheeked smile. She'd insisted he had to tell Mrs. Stern on his own. 

The brief, uncomfortable conversation had begun with a quietly disapproving Mrs. Stern, but thanks be, she'd thawed somewhat when he explained why he couldn't go back to the classes. He let her think it was solely because he couldn't bring himself to socialize with all those _partners,_ and vowed he'd attend virtual classes through the comp at the library since St. Maggie's didn't have comps for the resident's use. With Mrs. Stern's help, he scheduled the class, along with library time. He'd offered to pay for it on his own, but Mrs. Stern waved the offer off. "No need for that. The state makes the classes available to all its citizens for free. A Nice address is the only thing you need."

That had been a problem taken off the table. He should have felt better, but he couldn't get the picture of those men out of his mind. All those contented, expectant, excited faces. He wished he could feel that way. Maybe he could have, if only Thing hadn't exposed everything he'd believed in to be a lie. 

=+=

Jared strolled through the doors of St. Maggie's, headed for work and feeling light-hearted, in fact, he felt positively upbeat this morning. The sun brightened everything, making the city look clean; a lovely, warm, breeze tickled the ends of his hair. He'd left his beloved scarf in his room, had even unbuttoned the top few buttons of his jacket—comfortable at last. Even the hike to the local trolley stop felt a little less like a forced march across the Arctic today—he took a slight detour to Mr. Sonne's, deciding that dam— _darn it,_ he was going to treat himself this fine morning. And work on his cursing. He'd sound just like a city person before long. Was that a good thing? 

Jared shook his head. Catching sight of himself in chrome sides of a bathroom tube he passed, he brushed hair away from his face, long enough now to pull into a horsetail. He looked more like the carriers in Mr. Jim's books than he liked...really should cut his hair, he thought with a heavy sigh, and tucked unruly strands behind his ears. Something else he'd do as soon as he had more time, and more money. 

He made his way past the people crowding the Milk Bar entrance, and was called towards the back end of the stall by Mr. Sonne, the stall's owner. 

"There you are, young man. Been waiting for you. Here you go, a Snickerdoodle whip," Mr. Sonne said as he slid a very tall and frothy cup of forbidden coffee towards Jared, smiling when Jared let out a pleased little hoot. "It's an abomination of milk and flavored syrup with a shot of caffeine, just the way you like. And grab one of those cookies, you need to eat more than you do." 

Despite the fact Jared had a job, Mr. Sonne still treated Jared like he was the starving kid who'd turned up in his stall eager for even one free, day-old doughnut. Jared scoffed, took a sip, and licked away an impressive whipped-cream mustache. "You know, between the folks at the diner constantly making me eat, plus the cookies you keep forcing on me, it's a miracle I'm not the size of two whales."

Mr. Sonne just smirked. "Um-hum. How are you doing this lovely morning?"

Jared smiled up at him, knowing what Mr. Sonne was asking. Early on, shortly after he'd settled in to St. Maggie's, Mr. Sonne had casually asked Jared one day if he was a carrier. Jared had been hesitant to answer, but he'd held his head up and answered yes. The man had simply nodded and that had been the end of it. Now he just pushed sweet, mostly non-caffeinated drinks his way. That, and his poker-faced acceptance of everything, made him one of Jared's favorites. 

"I'm fine sir," he replied. "I keep having these crazy mood swings though."

Mr. Sonne coughed out a dry little laugh. "My dear wife blessed me with four children—her mood swings are a memory I cherish—no, not really," he said to Jared's raised eyebrows. "Take another cookie before you go. It's good to see you smile, Jay."

 _Good to see you smile._ What did that mean? Jared walked away, frowning slightly. He smiled! He smiled a lot, all the time, in fact. Constantly smiling. Just, lately he'd been a little...well, grumpy. But mostly he was happy. More or less. Jared snapped a bite of his cookie and hurried towards the trolley stop—he'd spent longer than he planned at the coffee stall.

Jared made it to his stop just as the trolley squealed to a standstill. He hefted himself onboard, set the bag holding his work shoes on the floor between his feet and nibbled the last of his cookie. Legs spread to give himself some room, he groaned in relief. Walking the few blocks to his stop was getting to be more and more like a test of willpower. 

Arranging himself as comfortably as possible on the hard, wooden bench, he gave a quiet greeting to the various people on the trolley with him, people that he'd gotten to know—at least by sight—as the weeks had passed. The bench was actually his favorite seat; from it, he had a good view of Nice flicking past his window. The chunk-chunk of the wheels on the steel rail had become a familiar song now, just as the pale yellow walls plastered over with posters and announcements and hand-scrawled notes advising all that Holly was hoor were so familiar now as to be invisible. 

He leaned his head back against the window, and sighed. The Jared that had skipped out of St. Maggie's this morning like, like—Heidi on the mountain—had become grumpy old Jared again. He wasn't looking forward to what this day offered; standing on aching feet all morning, then off to classes, and then to the library, and then home to study before blessed sleep... it was hardly past breakfast, how was it that he was already exhausted?

Arriving at work, Jared did his best to shake off his blue mood. Lando cornered him before he'd even hung up his coat, asking if he'd thought about shortening his shifts—which, no Jared did not wish to shorten his shifts, thank you—and about setting a date for his _"lying-in",_ a term Jared had been startled to hear coming from his boss, because before today, he'd never heard anyone but the oldest of old grandmothers say that. After a good solid minute of laughing, Jared had informed a highly indignant Lando that was also not happening—not when Jared had no idea of his delivery date himself. 

The lift to his spirits evaporated too quickly as he began dressing for work. He struggled to pull the sides of his work shirt together. The darn thing had gotten so tight, it was almost obscene. There was way too much of Thing's residence showing through the straining buttons. How the heck had he not noticed this earlier? 

Jared groaned in annoyance, and mentally added a shirt or two to the list of things he needed, and the amount of money he'd have to deduct from his paycheck before sending Mr. Jim his money. 

While he was thinking hard about his immediate future, Lando came strolling into the employee's room, did a double take when he saw Jared. Jared watched him struggle mightily not to giggle, and worked through his own struggle not to waddle over and smack the living heck out of the man. Lando bit his lip and hurried out of the door, and before Jared could even practice his curse words, was back, carrying a pink apron. Jared stared at it and looked up at Lando. "Pink?"

Lando cleared his throat. "All the black ones were dirty?"

Jared snatched it out of his hand. "Fine! I mean, thank you. I'm sorry, that was rude. I was...lost in my head for a moment."

"Sure. But you might want to purchase some new shirts. 'Cause, y'know, this is a diner, not a pathetic strip club where no one takes their clothes off, they just flash portions of their anatomy at our horrified diners." 

"Oh my god, O—get the hell out, you ass—" Addie appeared behind Lando, elbowing her way past him with a disgusted expression. She slammed the door on him, the sound echoing in the small room. She hitched herself up on the lunch table, ignoring Jared's weak protest. "Oh, please, this table is cleaner for my ass being on it. Ignore Lando, he's an idiot, but deep down, he cares…" She stopped and peered at Jared. "You okay, Jay?"

Jared leaned against the locker wall, crushing the apron to his chest. He dipped his head, taking advantage of how long his hair was to hide behind it.

"I just.. I'm tired of being this way," he muttered, tying the apron on. He slouched his way out of the employee room, Addie on his heels as they headed into the kitchen. Jared ignored everyone, snatching up a basin of dirty dishes just this side of too heavy for him, using it as a wedge between himself and Addie. 

"Jay," she said, concern in her eyes as she reached towards him. 

He shrugged away from her, snapped, "You want to know how I _really_ am? I hate being this...bloated blob, I hate the things that are happening to me, and I hate the way everyone thinks it's so, so fu—flipping—funny. I _hate_ it!"

Activity in the kitchen came to a stop. Jared could feel the staff's eyes on him, waiting for what might come next. And next was Candy, slipping past Addie and making a beeline at Jared. Candy's lilting croon broke the silence. "Oh, now honey sweetie-pie, that's just hormones talking. Why, in no time at all you'll be so thrilled an' excited, you won't be able to image you ever felt this way, trust me."

She reached out to lay a hand on his stomach and Jared shouted, "DON'T!" Twisting away from her touch, the basin overbalanced, and dropped to the floor. He clapped hands over his face, his fingers digging in as he tried not to scream, ignoring Candy's shout of surprise and the flying shards of dirty dishes. Kitchen activity doubled, and the busboys and cooks tried to sweep up the mess without actually making contact with Jared, who was still clutching at himself in the middle of the floor. He heaved in lung-fulls of hot air that stuck in his throat, choking him, before finally he managed to squeak out, "Don't, don't touch me, I hate being—this—this horrible way!"

"Oh, Jay. You can't even say pregnant, can you?" Candy looking shocked—this was a side of Jared no one had ever seen before. Well, maybe it was past time he'd spoke the truth. Holerah, or maybe he'd just been a giant ass to his friends. 

Jared meant to apologize, he truly did, he _should_ —but what spilled out of him was completely the opposite of that.

"Pregnant, _pregnant,_ damn it, are you happy now?" Eyes clamped shut, he shouted, "I hate being _pregnant,_ I hate this thing!" He tore the pink apron off, and throwing it to the ground, violently stamped on it. "I hate myself!".

Thunderous silence met him as he dashed out of the kitchen and straight through the dining room, pushing past Ralph at the doorway, ignoring the shouts of the other diners. He ran almost all of the blocks back to his attic, adrenaline pushing him past exhaustion and pain. 

Once he'd slammed the door shut on the outside world, he collapsed, his fingers digging deep as they could into the bedclothes. He felt like...like he was finally taking the step off a cliff that he'd been hesitating to take since arriving in Nice. 

Jared sobbed into his pillow, torn in two with how much he missed his mother. He _needed_ her, why did she hate him? How could they have just thrown him away? He hated the thing inside him for taking her and his siblings and his home away. His chest and gut hurt, throat raw and mouth dry from screaming into his pillow. 

"Help me, help me," he moaned into the soggy, wet mass he'd turned his pillow into. "Oh Lord, why did you do this to me? Why? Wasn't I good enough? Is it because I'm a monster, because I want boys instead? Why do only bad people want me? I must be so bad…"

He took a breath, sides heaving, and then dissolved into tears again—for the loss of his job and his friends. How was he going to live without anyone who cared? 

Jared fell asleep finally, hours passed before he woke again. The sun had long passed his window, and shadows crisscrossed the floor. He rolled upright, and tried to lever himself off the bed, stumbling over the ruched-up pile of his rug. Jared winced when he saw where his shoes had landed after kicking them off; one sat on his table, the other was peeking out from under the rug. 

"Oh, for cryin' out loud," he groaned, rubbing his belly, groping for the table edge to help him stand. He felt nauseous and out of sorts, scolded himself for being stupid enough to fall asleep on his belly. The Thing was punishing him for crushing it. And for goodness sake, _water!_ He needed water terribly. He'd sent all his bodily fluids pouring out through his eyes. His queasy stomach took a turn and then howled like a mad beast. Yes, and he was hungry beyond belief. If he was lucky, he had a few crackers left in the pantry cabinet..."The Lord willing," he mumbled and shuffled over to the little cabinet that held his few snacks.

He was so startled by the sudden loud, insistent knocking at his door that he fumbled his crackers to the ground. Overcome at the injustice of losing his few crackers, his eyes filled; he forgot for a moment that someone was demanding his presence at the door. Banging came again, and heaving a great sigh, he shuffled over and carefully opened the door—wobbling backward when it flew open.

The doorway was filled with people he'd not expected to see again, not after the way he'd acted today and the horrible things he'd said. 

Lando pushed his way in first. "I'm not staying," he said, waving the bags he clutched. They were full of something that smelled _amazing._ "Could've warned us 'bout the dragon ladies guarding this place, but thank whoever, you're their favorite and they let us up instead of devouring us whole," he grumbled.

"Hunh?" Jared bleated like he hadn't jumped from Alpha to Gamma student in little more than a month. Favorite? He thought. What in the world?

Lando arranged the food on Jared's table. "There. It's small in here, I'm leaving." He gave Jared a pat on the head. "See you at work," he said, and left as Ralph and Carl came in, both of them carrying bags from a local thrift store. Jared looked from Ralph to Carl, curious...and very confused. 

"Don't look at us," Carl said, rolling his eyes. "Those girls made us carry these bags of—whatever they are." He reached inside the bag and pulled out a tiny blanket. " Hunh," was all he said before grinning at Jared. "Bears are cool."

Jared was still bobbing his head with no clue what he was agreeing to when Candy and Addie strolled in. "Don't listen to whatever he's telling you," Candy smirked, and kissed Jared on the cheek—high as she could reach. "Unless they're telling you about how they fought over who was paying like bratty toddlers. Addie, what do you call it if someone's the teachers pet when there's no teacher?"

"Umm...spoiled?" Addie said with mock seriousness. She smiled—and did a double take when she got a good look at Jared. He quickly scrubbed at his face and hair, before dropping his hands and clasping them behind his back. He was pretty sure he looked like he'd been dragged backward through brambles. 

"You! Get on that shelf you call a bed, right now." She turned from Jared to snap her fingers at Ralph. "Tea!" she demanded.

Ralph tossed his head back, looked down his nose to growl at her. "Just who the hell do you think I am?"

"A pushover and a soft touch," she snapped back. 

"Damn," he said, lighting the little hotplate that served as Jared's kitchen. He found a cup for Jared's tea, muttered, "Appears the woman knows me well."

Jared smiled as he watched the scene playing out between the two of them and wondered if they knew they liked each other. Distracted by the thought of Ralph and Addie, he was bundled back into bed, wrapped in new blankets and holding a mug of deliciously scented tea. For the first time in hours, he felt warm inside and out. His eyes insisted on watering up as he looked around at the people crowded into his attic. He glanced over at his table, nearly hidden under everything that had come out of the bags. A Golden Morn dinner special, plus muffins, crackers, and few pieces of fruit. Tea and honey, and iced cookies...and Jared was now the proud owner of several shirts, two new pairs of stretch-band pants, a pair of slippers that were made to look like furry little cows.

He'd thought he'd lost everything this afternoon, but here were his friends, with hugs, with understanding, he inhaled deeply...and with _food,_ he thought, and let out a damp little chuckle. He dipped his head over his cup; he didn't want them to see him crying and mistake happy tears for sadness. 

So...it appears he was kind of an idiot. He'd thought he'd made friends here, but what he'd had was family all along.


	16. Jared edged carefully towards the rear of the room, and settled himself into his usual seat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear and patient readers. I know we signed on for a J2 storyline, what seems like a million years ago. This was the chapter it should have happened in, but things took a little jog, and I realized I was pushing the meeting because I was impatient. I figured if I'm impatient, you all had to be up to here with waiting. Not to worry! Our boys will meet very, very soon! And thank you for your continued interest! Your wonderful comments keep me going! (apologies for the snail's pace. )

=+=  
The smell of sausage patties and eggs being overcooked made a too-early morning even more unpleasant; Jared's mouth filled with thick saliva he struggled to swallow down. He managed it without having to dash to the toilet, a minor victory he celebrated by taking a steadying breath.

Lifting his chin, he wove his way through the tight aisles between tables, trying not to inhale much. The tray he was clutching held a thick crockery bowl of plain oatmeal and a tumbler of orange juice—a delicious, nutritious breakfast. He snorted quietly to himself. As Candy would say—begus. Oh, no— _bogus._ The most important thing about his meal was that it was nearly odorless. St. Maggie's was very good at 'sheltering the poor little ones', but the food...someone needed to have a serious talk with the cooks.

Jared edged carefully towards the rear of the room, and settled himself into his usual seat, a small table tucked next to a utility closet that only partially obscured his view of the courtyard garden.

'It'll be nice to see the lilacs in bloom,' he thought, smiling at the tender green he could see dusting the shrubs outside. They'd be in bloom soon, their heavy scent filling the air. He couldn't wait--how he looked forward to taking his meals outside where it would be quiet and private and pleasant, instead of in the dining hall where it was decidedly not.

Due to not being able to handle strong smells right at the moment, he'd taken the oatmeal for breakfast—thank you so very much, Thing—but Jared couldn't work up much interest in it. The Lord forbid the cooks do anything as mad as sprinkling a few berries or a teaspoon of jam into the bland, gray glop in his bowl. He spooned up a blob and chewed, his gaze going from the window to looking around the dining hall and pretending he wasn't the object of scrutiny. He frowned, and stuck another spoonful in his mouth. Definitely begus.

One would think that after all this time, St. Maggie's girls would stop glaring at him like he'd come to steal their earthly goods. Or, he thought vindictively, their sketchy virginity, and immediately felt like an ass. Whether they were mean or not, it wasn't on _him_ to pass any sort of judgment on other people, considering his own state. And honestly, not everyone was mean. A few of the girls did speak to him. Granted, it was never anything like a conversation, but at least they were polite when he was face to face with them—

Jared tossed his spoon onto the tray and grimaced in frustration. _Pants._

Human nature being what it was, there were also the girls who from day one had made it their business to spread rumors about Jared—that he'd gotten pregnant working the streets, that he'd been sniffing around a few of the girls, that he was just pretending to be Family, that he was hiding out here because he'd killed his family...some of the rumors were hurtful, some were just plain stupid. All of them made him an object of suspicion. He'd never said anything to Mrs. Stern or Mrs. Mond, because the Lord knew he didn't need them bearing down on the girls like...like...enraged Valkyries. He needed to live here after all. 

"Yeah," Jared sighed quietly. Propped his chin on his fist, and poked at the stiff oatmeal before tossing his spoon aside a final time. At least the orange juice came prepackaged and impossible to ruin. He sipped at it, thinking about life, where he was, when there'd come a time that he'd be able to be on his own….

Jared jerked upright, slammed the glass down. Who said he couldn't be on his own now? He didn't really need to live here, did he? 

He made fairly decent money—a least enough money to afford rent. And food. And probably most of the expenses that came from every-day living. He was pretty sure about that. Maybe.

Dam—darn. Moving into his own place was possible, yes. He could survive in a place of his own, on his own. However, Jared figured it was more than likely he'd need another job to actually _enjoy_ the surviving. But...he could do it. For now, anyway. He had at least another two months before Thing took him off his feet, which realistically, would probably send him right back to St. Maggie's. He sighed again...but until then, he'd have two months of freedom, and he wasn't afraid to work like a darn dray horse if necessary. 

Jared chewed at the edge of his thumbnail, mulling the insane idea over. It would work. _If_ he could still get the benefits St. Maggie's afforded—doctor visits and school. _If_ he got a part time job, _If_ ….

He needed to talk to the Valkyries. He released his poor abused thumb and smiled, eyes on the sliver of reviving garden he could see from his spot by the closet, and his mind a million miles away. 

"Freak. What are you smiling at?"

Dropped firmly back into reality, Jared just rolled his eyes. Today. He would make an appointment today.  
=+=

Mrs. Mond looked concerned, and Mrs. Stern just stared expressionlessly at him. Jared could literally feel sweat crawl down his spine. He struggled not to jam his thumb in his mouth, or fidget, or smile at inappropriate moments….

"Jared. I wish you'd told us how unhappy you were—"

Mrs. Stern said something else, but Jared was kind of fixed on _wish you'd told us how unhappy you were._ Truly? Could they not see? No one socialized with him. He lived under the eaves and not _one_ person who shared St. Margret's with him had ever been to his room, or asked if he was okay, or shared any advice or tidbit about how they were dealing with pregnancy or anything that would have been...a gesture of friendship. Now, finally, Jared was fed up with it all. Fed up with trying to shrink his six foot frame into a size that would make him invisible. He unconsciously straightened on his chair., throwing his shoulders back and lifting his chin.

When he directed his attention back to the two women, Mrs. Mond was speaking. "—of course, you won't lose any of the support offered by St. Margret's if you move out, dear. Not sugar-coating it though, it will be hard being on your own in your condition."

Mrs. Stern shot her a look that if looks could kill, Mrs. Mond would be gasping out her last breath on her orange and turquoise plush rug. "Io, I disagree. I think this course of action is directly contrary to Jared's safety and well-being. He needs to be here—" She punctuated her comment by jabbing her index finger against the table top. Jared winced. She went on, ice-chip eyes drilling into Mrs. Mond," —where he has instant access to care, and protection. The type of places you're most likely to afford would be in the worst neighborhoods, Jared," she said, finally addressing her concerns to the person this was all about. 

"My friends have suggested some nice places, close to where they live. It's a decent neighborhood, and most of the people there are elderly, so I doubt there'd be much in the way of trouble there."

This time, he cringed when Mrs. Stern jabbed the desk again. Didn't it hurt? She snapped, "The elderly are going to be even worse neighbors to you than the clients here. They grew up in a time where carriers weren't even considered human beings—when they were herded up and practically caged, segregated from society at large."

Mrs. Mond shook her head. "Well, that's something he'll have to deal with, Eta. We can't protect him from everything. Do you think it's only the elderly?" She gave Jared a sympathetic look. "Prejudice is an ugly thing and injects its venom into young and old. Jared's a strong boy, though. I say we support his bid for independence. He'll stand on his own two feet—he's a boxer, this one, a regular Joe Lewis. He's built to succeed."

Jared nodded tentatively, shook by the support, shook by the reasons Mrs. Stern didn't support it—he knew she cared, she was paid to care, but it seemed she actually _cared_ about him. He was also a little shook to find that two of them had actual first names. And how silly did he feel being surprised by that? Feeling a bit like a First year Jared, he stood and quickly left the office when they gave him leave. 

This day had been a completely overwhelming. He needed the peace and quiet of his room—he needed to think, and then, to talk to a friend.  
=+=

_Dear Mr. Jim Beaver,_

_Things have taken a dramatic turn. As you know, I haven't been entirely comfortable in my current lodgings. I have no complaint with my room, it's nice, if tiny. But I can no longer carry the weight of the other residents' disdain. I don't deserve it, and I refuse to put up with it any longer. I've spoken to the staff in charge here, and I'm being allowed to leave St. Maggie's, but still continue to receive benefits from them, in regards to doctor visits, which is an enormous relief. It's one thing I don't have to think about and my classes continue, through the InConnect, and one physical class once a week. I do like that, and wish I could attend an actual classroom every day, but this way, when I need to furlough, I'll have already been enrolled in on-line classes so going full time will be an easier transition. I've been thinking about this step a lot, as you might be able to tell. I almost feel as if I'm going to be homeless again, but this time it's by my choice and I'm confident it will all work out._

_I hope! :)_

_Your sweater continues to keep me warm and safe. It's still as lovely and bright as it was when I, shall we say, adopted it. I still feel guilty for depriving you., but if only you knew how much it has helped comfort me when I need it._

_I have some new books in my tiny library. Sherlock Holmes, have you ever read these stories? You might want to—your library at the cabin was most scandalous (I hope you don't mind my teasing you, somehow I feel you wouldn't mind.)_

_I'll keep you updated on apartment search, and enclosed find this week's installment of the money I owe you._

_With fondest wishes,_

_your friend Jay_  
=+=

Jared sat staring at the compscreen, a lukewarm tea in his hand, elbow resting unnoticed on a piece of wax paper dotted with the crumbly remnants of a brownie. All around him, people moved and talked and ate and argued, and Jared noticed none of it. He tapped a little melody out on the metal table top, his legs spread wide for comfort; he wrapped and unwrapped them around the tall legs of the chair he sat in. Addie had suggested he look for apartments on-line. It was a throw away suggestion meant to help, but now he was sitting, stunned—the InConnect had vomited up tons and tons of links. Gradually, he learned how to filter out links that weren't helpful, and found his way to local listings, and then was able to rank those by price and amenities...of which there were few at the level he could afford. He leaned back, taking some of the stress off his back. 

Eventually the InConnect led him to a landing that listed apartments of affordable prices in the area he'd come to consider his neighborhood. Fishing around in his coat pocket, he came up with enough coin to print out a copy. He pushed his disgusting cup of cold, bland tea aside and closed out the comp. Walking up to the front to collect his copy, he decided to bring the print with him to the Golden Morn. 

With luck, Ralph and Carl would be there. If they were, Jared planned to corral them into helping him with his quest. He'd gotten permission to look for a place, other than that he was on his own. He knew he might need a guardian because of his age, but in this general neighborhood, odds were he could walk into a place with Ralph, ebony skinned and brown eyed with a build like a slightly paunchy Hercules and get someone to accept the man had indeed fathered a blotchy white stick with a mop attached to one end of it.

At the end of several cups of tea and one sneaked cup of real coffee, Jared had come up with a plan, with the help of his family. 

"All right, what we need to do is get you identification, information that states plainly you're emancipated, due to leaving a Family community because of religious persecution—"

"But that's not what happened," Jared interrupted, for some reason feeling oddly defensive of his former community. "I went against all rules. I was a lawbreaker, so of course I had to go. I failed the Family and was, was exiled for it." Even now saying the words, remembering it all, made his soul ache.

"Yes, and here in the, what do you call it, Outside? We consider that persecution, plain and simple, and that gives you an instant seat at our table."

Jared sighed, dropped his head, taking refuge behind the curtain of hair swinging loose to cover his face. They didn't understand...they'd been born into such a different world than his. All they knew was _'Do what you want'._ They'd never had to sacrifice for the good of the family, never had the knowledge that selfishness was a sin the Lord could not abide sunk deep into their bones; they'd never understand how Jared struggled with that sin….

His friends went on making plans, and Jared pushed his sorrow down—just the idea of trying to explain what he was feeling exhausted him beyond words. He added up expenses in his head, and quietly sipped the horrible cup of Sanka that Addie had switched out for his coffee. Begus.  
=+=

Days went by as they checked off the list of apartments, from truly horrible to just okay. While he and his friends searched, Jared managed to push ahead in his school work , through extra credit projects and approved tests. He had hopes that he'd be able to jump ahead to Delta and graduate ahead of time, before Thing came. He had no reasons not to—there wasn't anyone who cared if he graduated with the class or not. The only people who cared were the Valkyrie and his little family, and they'd support whatever decision he made—what more did he need?

Jared was having these weighty thoughts as he propped himself up against a short, damp, garden wall, huffing and puffing, and trying to wave a cool breeze into his sweaty face. The apartment he'd just looked at was up three flights of stairs. Dark, narrow stairs, that opened up to a closet-sized room that he was sure was a portal of Hades. It too was dark, resistant to the light that tried to break through a frosted-glass window, welded shut with generations of paint. The building was noisy, smelled like goat, and promised lots of company in the form of very active six-legged roommates. 

"Ick," he muttered and heaved himself upright again, dragging the back of his hand across his damp forehead. There had to be better places within his price range. Working up a feeling of positivity was hard—this morning had been quite a test. Jared crossed off the places he'd visited this day, and decided a break was just what he needed before looking at his last address of the day.. It was only a block from the Golden Morn, which put it still close enough that school and the library were only two trolley stops away. He wondered how it could be affordable being so close to the shops and all, but for this moment, he refused to dwell on the negative. Right now, he was only thinking about his daily allotted coffee and lunch and the heck with the rest.

A blast of warm, aromatic air hit him as he opened the diner's door, along with the clattering of crockery and flatware. Smelled of meatloaf—today's special—and tomato soup, which sounded like a deliciously good idea to Jared. He waved to folks who greeted him, and ignored surreptitious glances which were not as stealthy as they hoped. Jared wasted no time on them. At least he'd learned something useful from the girls at St. Maggie's. 

He sat with Ralph and Carl, dropped his list on the table and reached for the tall, glass of cool water there; whoever owned it was out of luck—they were more than welcome to arm wrestle him for it. His eyes slipped closed with relief as the blessed cool water filled his mouth and flowed down his parched throat. He blissfully ignored a disgruntled Ralph. He'd make it up to him on his next shift. 

"Lemme see what you got there," Carl said, and flicked the list towards himself, looking it over with knotted eyebrows. "Gee, you looked at a lot of places today. Any trouble?"

"No. I didn't see anything I liked either. The least awful of those places was the one with hot and cold running roaches, and the other that smelled like several dogs had died in it. Dogs who apparently had lived exclusively off cabbage and broccoli." 

Jared plopped his chin onto his hand, and tried really hard not to pout. "Peace of mind just isn't worth leaving a decent place to live in a filthy closet."

"That's because you haven't been looking in the right places." Candy dropped a cup of soup, along with a heaping plate of creamy mashed potatoes and a thick slice of meatloaf in front of him, then sat with them. "You need to look for people letting rooms. They're usually cleaner. More homey."

"Yeah, a house, right," Carl said. "Like this one." His thick finger obscured the line he was pointing at. "I know where this place is. We'll go after lunch."

Jared shrugged. It seemed like a perfect way to spend a day off. He closed his eyes, quickly thanked the Lord and then Candy, before digging in. Meatloaf day at the Golden Morn was one of his favorite days. 

After meatloaf, and a cup of real coffee _and_ a slice of berry pie, Carl hustled Jared out to the street—"Daylight's burning, you wanna see these places by real light, make sure they ain't hiding anything." 

It doesn't take long before Carl was opening an iron garden gate that lead to a tall, narrow house. There was a for rent sign sitting in one window, a heavy curtain keeping it in place. It was exactly the same as every other house on the block—narrow, faced with brown brick, a postage-stamp sized front yard surrounded by a waist-high iron fence. There was a post box with three slots, one slot was only a number, the two remaining slots held paper tags with what Jared guessed must be tenants' names. 

There was a cat sitting on the front steps, watching Jared and Carl walk down the short walk with an expression of interest. When they were nearly at the steps it flowed off into the bushes and was gone. 

Carl knocked while Jared caught his breath; less than a minute passed before the door was open and a woman who looked very much like a disgruntled walnut answered. Her steel-gray hair was pulled back so tight that she had a permanent expression of suspicion on her face. Her narrowed eyes looked the duo up and down. "Yes?" Just one word, and then she folded surprisingly muscular looking arms over her purple house coat. 

Jared cleared his throat. "I'm here about the room—"

"Apartment," she cut in, her eyes going even more narrow, before she went silent and watchful again.

"Yee-es—really? Apartment?" Jared looked at the building with more interest. The windows were large, and opened outward—he could see open windows at the top floor. Leaning, he could catch a glimpse of the back yard. He could see a bench, and some garbage bins. 

"I don't rent to minors," she said. 

"I'm...I'm emancipated? But this is my guardian...er. Yes." 

She snorted. "You're pregnant. And dropping soon, far as I can see. I need a renter with an income. I'm not a charity."

"Can see that," Carl whispered. She fixed her steely gaze on him, as if she'd heard the whisper. Jared thought he'd known what a formidable look was, having been a member of the Padaleckis, but that look being leveled on them now? He shivered from its icy weight.

"I do have an income—oh, and I'm about to take a second job." Jared crossed his fingers and hoped no angels of the Lord were listening in as he bold-faced lied to this wrinkly old yenza. "and I receive a small stipend from St. Margret's…"

"St. Maggie's?" She leaned back and stared down her nose at him, her lips compressed so tightly they disappeared. When she spoke it was in a harsh whisper. "Carrier." She shook her head, and stray wisps of steel-gray separated from the mass twisted behind her head with the force of it. "Well. The State says you are your own people. Humph." 

Carl sneaked a look at Jared, biting his lower lip. Jared recognized the mix of emotions because he was feeling them himself—disgusted anger, because she was a mean old yenza; amusement, because she'd actually said 'Humpf.' Out loud. Jared elbowed Carl in a soft spot. "Stop," he hissed, trying not to move his lips as he did.  
The woman pushed open her door and said, "Rear apartment, this floor" stepping back as she spoke to give them room to pass. The change of subject was so abrupt that Jared actually felt like he'd taken a punch, going from the swipe at him being a carrier to all business; for a long second he wondered if he should just walk away, but Carl nudged him and Jared stumbled forward down the hall. 

It was a short hallway, with tiled floors, tiles that climbed halfway up the walls before giving way to dark green wallpaper. There was an odd jog to the right where the hall widened slightly, ending at a set of doors. There was an archway to Jared's left—a flight of stairs leading to the upper floor. The doorway to his right had only a number, and the door the old yenza was pointing at had a blank slot for a name.

"Go in if you want to, the door is unlocked." 

Jared and Carl exchanged looks; Jared stepped forward hesitantly and pushed the door open. He stumbled to a stop. 

It was tiny, but not smaller than his space in the attic. The narrow hallway opened to a long, narrow room, at the end of which was a wide, arched doorway. Through it was an actual kitchen...ette. Big enough that he could boil water, fry an egg, even bake some cookies. He was thrilled to see it also had a small refrigerator. There was even room for a table and chairs. He swallowed, afraid to get too hopeful…. 

On one side of the kitchenette a door that he expected would lead to a pantry actually opened on a bathroom. He blinked. Just like Mr. Jim's cabin, a bathroom in a kitchen. But along with a toilet was a sink, and a lovely, deep tub _with_ a shower head. Jared bit his lip, whispered, "Oh my." 

Just the thought of not having to scamper down the hall a dozen times a night to to use the toilet, or leave his room to take a shower made him feel giddy. And the other kitchen door opened onto a garden. Small, but a place to sit, to breathe in the scent of growing things...he made a tiny sound of pleasure, and Carl chuckled quietly. "Yeah, it's nice," he muttered. Jared nodded. It was.

The brick wall surrounding the garden was softened by shrubs, what kind he couldn't tell. There was a tiny plot for vegetables, and Jared's fingers practically itched to feel the soil. Who'd have thought that he'd miss it so much? Movement under one of the shrubs drew his eyes. A white cat with calico markings on its head and tail peered at him from a spot under the bush. It looked like the same one that had been on the steps. Jared smiled at it, and again, it flowed away like smoke. He'd been so curious when stepping in the apartment he'd missed a door. He swung the door open to another long, narrow room. "Ah!"

There was a bed—a real bed, one he was sure he could stretch out on and not have his feet hang off the end, and a desk, and still room for, for, if he had to make room for a crib...if he had to, he could.

Jared shook unpleasant thoughts out of his head and turned his attention back to the yenza waiting impatiently for him to finish his tour of the apartment.

"You're interested. Fine. It's all well and good to say you have an income but I'll need some guarantee that you'll make the rent. Which by the way is one hundred a month. And I'll need two months rent up front. I don't provide meals or housekeeping. There is a laundry machine in the basement for extra fee. If you take it," she stared at Jared's midsection, "we'll see what the future brings as it comes." 

Jared's heart dropped. Of course she wanted money up front. What an idiot he was. What a fool. And two hundred dollars...by the time he had that much saved, Thing would be out of him and then what? Tears flooded his eyes, until a gentle nudge at his shoulder brought him back to the here and now. Carl was asking the woman for a rental agreement, and telling her that he would sign as guardian, to guarantee Jared's ability to meet the rent. 

Before Jared could even protest, Carl turned a look on him that rivaled any that Padalecki, or for that matter, Grumpy Yenza, had thrown his way. Jared swallowed, and Grumpy Yenza chuckled darkly. "Now I believe you are his guardian," she said. "I am Mrs. Kawa. Let us collect names and monies and sign some papers." 

She pulled out the chairs around the table where it now seemed Jared would be taking his meals. "Sit. I will be back with what we need."

She walked out and Jared blew out a breath he'd been holding—well, felt like since they stepped inside the house. "Whew! She is _quite_ the yenza," he said, and shuddered.

"The what?" 

_"Yenza,"_ Jared said, laughing lightly before going on. "In our communities a yenza means witch. But I think 'witch' doesn't mean the same Outside as it does to the Families. They are said to hold wisdom and magic, know their way through the natural world, too. Medicines and such. They're also cranky and bossy. There are not many full-fledged yenza—I've never known of anyone meeting one, but I know that they're supposed to be very good luck to have on your side, very bad if they're against you." Jared shrugged. "Yenza." 

"Then you'd better make sure to find her good side and park the hell on it," Carl chuckled. They both went silent like naughty schoolboys the moment Mrs. Kawa walked back into the room with a suspicious glare in her eyes. She had the rental agreement in her hand and a single cup of foul-smelling tea. Jared felt a brief flush of guilt. They must have interrupted her lunch. Before he could apologize, she set the cup firmly in front of him. 

"Drink that. It's good for the baby."

Jared gulped, and drank it down in a knee-jerk reaction—don't ever irritate yenzas or grandmothers. 

It tasted every bit as awful as it smelled: vinegary, slightly salty, every molecule of it clung like grease to his teeth and tongue. 

Carl watched Jared drink in horror. He'd started to warn Jared not to drink it, but got a kick under the table for his trouble, and when Mrs. Kawa looked away, Jared emphatically mouthed, _'YENZA.'_

Carl clammed up, but eyed the cup apprehensively, gaze jumping to Jared and the soon-to-be landlord as well.  
Jared signed, Mrs. Kaw approved, and whisked Carl's bills away smooth as magic, then wrote out a receipt in painstakingly neat handwriting. Sighing, she stood, and pointedly showed them the door. 

"You can bring your necessary items on the weekend," she said, then shut the door in their faces.

Jared walked out of the narrow house biting his lip to keep from grinning like a loon. He glanced over at Carl, who laughed.

"Look at you, Jay. You look like a cat drunk on cream," he said. "I'm glad this went copacetic for you—and you know I mean every word when I say I'll help. And so will Ralph, and that weird bird Orlando. We are here for you, my friend. Or should I say my son?"

Jared shuddered, a quick, unpleasant thrill running through him. He coughed to cover it, and managed a full smile at Carl. "I think being friends is even better than that," he said. "I'm so grateful for all the help you've given me—I'm honored by your friendship." And that must have been the right thing to say because Carl beamed, and wrapped a huge arm around Jared's shoulders.

"You stick with me, kid, and everything's gonna be okay."


	17. I'm telling you, this boy is an excellent candidate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part five: Follow the bouncing ball

  
_"I'm telling you, this boy is an excellent candidate. Family Community-raised; yes, raised by _those_ people. So you know he comes from good stock, and he's healthy and well-nourished." _

_He waved off the nurse who'd been assisting him during consultation hours, sending her out of the office before continuing. "He's a minor, so that's going to be a problem, no matter how healthy he is now. No, not to you. He's too young to be carrying. Sure, there's a possibility of damage—but not to the fetus. Infant. Have no worries there, he's one of my special patients. I made sure he was assigned to me. Yes, all the underages are in my care. I've gotten all of them to sign off except for this one; I have no idea why he just won't sign off, so damn stubborn. Now, now, don't worry— I'll work on him until he agrees. No, I can't offer him _money_ for god's sake, he's St. Margaret's client, not my personal client." _

_Switching the phone to his other ear to burn off a bit of irritation, he powered down his compad and rolled backwards in his office chair, coming to a rest at the window to watch traffic in the street below go by. This particular customer was a silver-spooned idiot. _No_ idea how the real world worked. But stinking rich, so he worked hard on swallowing his irritation and tried to keep his annoyance out of his voice. He forced a smile before going on._

_"Listen, even if the carrier doesn't make it through, I've got another two—females—on the string. I'm happy to jump you to the front of the line. It's no problem at all, I appreciate your donations to help these, these…"_

_He stopped, surprised to see the object of their conversation crossing the street, headed for the small city park. "Sorry, I was distracted. What? Oh. I can send you his medical information plus the baby's sex after the next exam. Until then, have a good week and don't worry. There will be a baby for you regardless of the carrier's survival. I know, it's trivial, but I can't have them popping off like flies now, can I?" He laughed, a quiet, dry laugh, and then said good-bye. He'd lost sight of the exiled Family boy. He worried his lower lip in his teeth. You know, he thought to himself, it would really be rather convenient if the carrier didn't survive...goodness knows, the boy had quite a few strikes against him, after all. And he could step up as the infant's protector, come off as a compassionate man while reaping a profit...who would question the death, especially such an inconsequential one?_

_He shook himself, and sighed, planted his elbow in a clear space in the forest of empty coffee mugs on his desk, he slipped the band of a headmirror over his finger and began idly swinging it 'round and 'round. Well, the issue of the carrier surviving was out of his hands. It was a matter to be tossed squarely into the lap of the boy's god. He leaned over his ugly, government-issue desk, sneering at the dark, pea-soup decor of the office he was forced to work out of here at St. Mags. Tossing the headmirror aside, he pressed a button on the office box-comm and called for the nurse to bring him all the underage's records. Time to get serious about adoptions and bank accounts._

=+=

Jared had just finished wiping down the kitchen prep tables with a vinegar solution the cook deemed safe for him when a dry cough behind him made him jump. He whirled around to find Dorothy, Mrs. Stern’s secretary behind him, holding out an envelope. "Jay, Mrs. Stern left a note for you."

"Oh! Thank you, Miss Dot." Jared took the note with a smile, and since his shift was done, followed her out of the kitchen and then hurried off to his room—his nearly empty room, now. A shiver of excitement flickered through him at the thought. 

Jared ripped open the note as he walked, groaning when he saw what the subject was. Seemed that the medical staff had been told that he was leaving, and the doctor he was currently seeing wanted an immediate consultation with him.  
  
Beans. Jared didn't want to have anything to do with the man, could not _wait_ for the day he wouldn't have to see him again...but right now all he could do was get the darn visit over with. 

He shut himself in the tiny shower room down the hall from his room. Wrinkling his nose at the stink of stale grease and kitchen cleaner that permeated his clothes, he washed his face and quickly ran a damp washcloth over his body—the doctor was terrible at hiding his contempt for Jared's background, his situation, in fact, his very existence. Jared was not about to be judged regarding hygiene as well. 

He stopped, looked at himself in the mirror, and burst into giggles. Okay, he had to admit, his thoughts did veer off into odd places lately.

Jared threw on the fresh clothes he'd brought in with him, and crammed the stinking work clothes into his laundry bag. He really hated _Just Like Ma's Fried Chicken'_ day, the smell was just—just _—gross._ He stuffed the clothing even deeper into the bag, promising himself it'd be taken care of soon. Candy had pointed out a laundromat close to his new rooms that was clean, fairly quiet, and judgment-free. Unlike this massive donkey's ass he was about to go see.

=+=

Jared was shown into the doctor's office by Nurse Spatz, which was quite a nice surprise. He hadn't seen her since he'd had to switch from Dr. Adler to the doctor he disliked. The nurse smiled warmly at him as she took his temperature and blood pressure. She gently asked him how he felt, how things were going in general. It was nice to talk to someone who really cared about how he felt, and understood that he was nervous. She did her best to reassure him, telling him he was doing really well. 

She patted his hand quickly before leaving the office. "Dr. Adler and I have missed you, Jay," she whispered, and those few words made his eyes water. He'd missed the doctor as well; her no-nonsense approach had been comfortable and yes, familiar to him.

That warm feeling evaporated like mist when the doctor burst through the office door without knocking. He threw a folder on his desk, nearly knocking over a city of take-out coffee cups, before rounding on Jared.

"Jared, you absolutely cannot leave—I can't believe that they're letting you go off on your own, why, you're barely able to deal with your own self now, how will you do that without the support offered here?" He stopped, inhaling hugely. It looked like he was counting, probably trying unsuccessfully to rein in anger. "What in the world are you thinking?" he snapped.

The words pierced him; Jared gasped like he'd been doused in an ice-bath. Was he being irresponsible? Was he wrong to try and strike out on his own, in this condition?

Jared mentally shook himself. No. He'd made the right choice, he was sure of it. He reached for the anger inside him and let it stiffen his spine; he tried to project confidence he wished he truly possessed into his voice. 

"I really don't think it's any of your business," he said calmly, his eyes meeting the doctor's squarely. "I'm emancipated, I'm in charge of myself and can do what I think is best for me."

"Well, I can tell you, you are going to sign these papers before you leave. There's no reason why a defenseless infant should be held hostage to your incredibly bad decisions." The man stopped, sucked in a deep breath and let it out before pasting on a ridiculously fake smile. "Sign these papers, why don't you, and then we'll take a few minutes to make arrangements to take care of you in my City Center office. While you're doing that, I'll let Stern and Mond know you're going to transfer all your paperwork to me—"

"Nope."

"Nuh-nope? No? What do you—I'm trying to help you, you thoughtless child! Look, I'll see you in my office without one red cent coming out of your pocket, and in fact...if you sign these papers and we make this a personal, a private adoption, if I can guarantee the person the infant goes to, say, a wealthy and very generous person who strongly desires to be a parent, and who, I repeat, would be very generous...would that help you make up your mind?" 

Jared sat as far back in the chair as he could, trying to put as much space as possible between himself and the man who was beginning to feel like a threat. He blinked hard as the doctor's words echoed in his head. Had...had he just offered to buy the Thing? 

"Now, this would just be between us, no one else needs to know."

Jared shook his head. "No. No, if St. Margaret's isn't involved, then I really don't want anything to do with it. Besides, I've already told you, many times, I'm not sure if I want to do that."

"Well, it's not psychologically sound to wait until after the infant's born. It's harder on the donor—parent—to separate from it." The doctor stopped, and visibly forced something that was supposed to be a smile on his face. "I just want what's best for you, Jared."

 _What was best for him?_ The man must think he was a total idiot. Jared stood as rapidly as he could, hands going automatically to his back. He hissed at the pain, which lent just the right amount of sharpness as he snapped, "I don't think there's a point to this conversation. I do not choose to see you at your office. I will be changing doctors since St Maggie's no longer has a say in who I see. I'll be the one to let the office know what my plans are."

He waddled out of the office in as dignified a manner as possible. Nurse Spatz looked up at Jared from her desk as he walked past, her brow wrinkled. She set down her compad and stood, leaning over the desk to call him closer."Jared...are you leaving the program altogether?"

"Oh, no, no. It's just, I've got my very own place now, and it's going to be wonderful. Oh, and I'm still allowed to take advantage of St. Maggie's support, medical, educational— _plus_ I get a small stipend as well. Isn't that great?" Jared couldn't help grinning, and she gave him a soft, thoughtful smile back.

"I see...well, good for you, Jared, and good luck, too. We'll talk later." 

He waved good-bye, wondering what sort of conversation Nurse Spatz would want to have with him? 

=+=

All the shadowy spaces in his room were filled with bright sunlight; the open window let in a breeze that bounced around the corners, flicked paper like a playful kitten. The sunlight warmed the wood floors that he kept so scrupulously clean, made them glow; the breeze wafted the sharp, clean smell of lemons throughout the room. Jared sighed. He'd done his best here. He'd made the little room a good place to be, but…. 

The open window also let in the sound of the streets, along with the laughter of girls in the courtyard below. He knew who they were just from the sound of their laughter. They were the ones who'd taught him that laughter wasn't always a happy sound. 

Jared didn't waste a second wondering what they were laughing at. They weren't a worry of his anymore. No, he was busy, totally wrapped up in...wrapping. He snickered a bit, grabbing another sheet of brown tissue paper. He was sitting on a particularly warm spot on his rug, legs splayed wide for comfort because his darn belly wouldn't let him sit any other way. He had an open box between his knees, in his hands a blue mug—one of the first things he'd bought here in Nice. It was perfect except for a little chip on the bottom. He'd tripped up on the rug not too long ago, dropping the cup and showering coffee everywhere. But the mug was a sturdy little thing and the chip just gave it character. Made it even better.

Smiling, he carefully wrapped tissue around it, glancing over at the small collection of things that sat on his table. There wasn't much left to pack—the bright yellow vase, a prize he'd found at a second hand shop, some nice pens, a little print. His books were already tied up in twine, ready to make their journey to the new apartment. Looking around, Jared shook his head. It'd taken months to turn his room into something like a home; it felt like it'd taken minutes to revert to being as cold and empty as when he'd first moved in. He'd made as much impact on St. Maggie's as a raindrop in a lake...oh well. Nothing about that was important now. Here he was, about to turn a new page, and it was exciting, and thrilling, and the right thing to do. To be his own person, to live for himself, he'd no sooner had the thought than the weird, uncomfortable feeling of someone poking you, but from the inside, reminded him that he wasn't quite living just for himself. Not now. 

With a sharp shake of his head, Jared turned back to what he could deal with at the moment, and grabbed a handful of excelsior. He tucked it with maybe a tiny bit more vigor than needed around the breakables in the cardboard box, then heaved himself to his feet. In stages.

"Oh, my poor aching fanny," he groaned, when he managed to get himself on his feet. "Oh, my aching everything!" 

He rubbed reluctantly at the swell pushing out the soft gray gym sweater Ralph had given him. He rolled up the cuffs again—the sleeves covered his fingers, they were so long. It was a comfortable sweater though, nice and soft and big, if nowhere near as colorful as Mr. Jim's sweater. He liked the gym sweating pants Ralph had given him too; they were great when the stretch-waistband pants were not as comfortable as they could be. 

Outside, church bells began ringing, pealing out the noon hour. 

"Twelve o'clock," Jared muttered, "and I forgot lunch. Again." His gut punctuated that fact by roaring like a cranky beast, while a sickening, looping wave lurched through him. "Stop it, I'm getting something to eat right now, you evil task-master." 

Working out tingles in his legs and feet, he wobbled over to the table and found the bag of crackers he'd tossed there earlier. Before he could snatch one out of the bag, the smell of potato chowder and crusty rolls made him fumble the bag. Was that...real food? Holerah, was he so hungry that he was hallucinating actual food?

He turned to a tentative knock at his door to see Mrs. Mond standing there like an angel of mercy, a food-bearing angel of mercy. She held a bag from a local soup kiosk, stuffed to the bursting point. The Lord knew just how much he treasured Mrs. Mond in this moment. If he were any more grateful, he'd burst into tears.

"Hello, I hope you don't mind me just dropping in like this, but I have some paperwork for you and figured it was a perfect time to have a working lunch. So, here I am with—" She held the bag out and shook it.

"Oh, you have no idea," Jared started to say, before his stomach finished his sentence for him. 

She laughed. "I'm just in time, I see."

Jared pulled out a chair for her, and helped her empty the bag. He was happy to see that he didn't need to unpack anything. He'd only left out a spare mug and plate for himself, enough to get him through this evening and the next day. Lucky for the both of them the containers served perfectly as dishes, and they'd included toss-away forks and spoons. 

Lunch was wonderful—the food was good, and Mrs. Mond spilled her grandmotherly concern all over him and Jared sucked it up like a sponge. Vibrating with excitement, and the feeling that things were falling his way, Jared shared a description of his apartment, Mrs. Mond listening attentively all the while. When the conversation worked its way around to Jared's visit with the doctor, she frowned. 

"Well...you are on your own now, and it's your decision who to see, but...I've got a recommendation for you. Dr. Adler is available if you'd like, I think you saw her in the begin—"

"Yes!" Jared nearly shouted in his eagerness. "Yes, that would be great."  
"Oh! Well, good," she said, beaming at him. She pulled a few cookies out of a bag that had held rolls they'd eaten with their chowder. "Don't think I forgot about your sweet tooth," she said, smiling at the way Jared's cheeks went pink. "You've really done a lot here, you're almost all packed." She smiled sadly for a second, then sighed. "Ah, Jay. I'm so proud of you, have been from day one, Eta and I both. You know, I wish I could have had lunch with you in your room before, but rules being rules...now, though, I can ignore them." She smiled at Jared. "So. What say I help you with this rug, which by the way, is a really lovely rug."

=+=

It turned out that by help, Mrs. Mond meant that Jared should sit, which he did while anxiously watching her work, worried that she'd hurt herself. The woman wasn't a spring chicken anymore, what with having grown children and grandchildren...she had to be fifty if she was a day...he clenched his cup and tried to smile as she wrestled his rug into submission.

Finally, rug rolled, and with some huffing, and puffing, tied up with twine, she declared she was done. "My stars. That was a workout." She wiped her brow, laughing as she spoke. "Someone coming to get this for you?"

"Oh, yes, It seems I have a couple of older brothers and a brace of sisters who are dying to pitch in."

Mrs. Mond laughed. “Good! You deserve a big family." She suddenly reached over and pulled him into her arms and hugged him tight, to Jared's great shock. He was enveloped in warmth, and a comfortable, motherly scent. "There," she whispered, "I've been wanting to do that forever," she said, "and now I can."

She left with a wink and a wide smile, leaving Jared standing in his nearly bare attic room, hands pressed to his cheeks, warm with embarrassment—and pleasure. 

=+=

The constant thrum in the air lately was hard to ignore. "Three City Base Craft," Jared muttered to himself, feeling proud of himself for not startling every time the sound sound rose in pitch, though the sight of the huge, ungainly thing lumbering through the sky would forever be weird to him...and a little scary. The higher-pitched sound of small aircraft darting around the base craft rose and fell as they flew closer and then farther away. Jared knew that somewhere in the city was a stationary base where soldiers came home to roost after their year of service, or found transport to smaller cities around Nice. Jared still felt mildly uncomfortable at the sight of uniforms everywhere—he hadn't forgotten the humiliation of being spit on by one those yahoos.

Ralph zeroed in on his momentary funk like a hawk on a mouse. "You okay?"

"Yes, just...thinking. I am thirsty, though. Oh, hey—a fruit stand!" It was a little grocery stall, fruit and vegetables set up outside, and inside the tiny stall, shelves held some basics. Perfect that it was on the route back to the new apartment, he thought, really pleased for another bit of good luck. He took off to the stall quickly as he could, ignoring Ralph's rude snickering behind him. 

Really, it was quite infuriating the way his friends claimed he was hungry all the time lately—ridiculous! He was just...nibblish. And besides, Dr. Adler approved of his appetite and insisted he have as much fruit and veggies as he liked. Which was good because meat was making him sick lately, sat in his gut like, like, mud, and whenever he drank the horrid gobnaw they called Sanka, it burned a trail right back up—

"Would you like some private time alone with your oranges?" Ralph asked, smiling fondly. Jared blushed violently and took his hands off the pile of golden fruit in front of him, a symmetrical heap of oranges that he had been thoughtlessly stroking for the last few seconds. Maybe longer. He stuck his tongue out at Ralph, throwing maturity to the winds, and why not—Ralph was certainly being childish. Jared lifted his chin and stalked away between the tables loaded with boxes of fruits and vegetables. After a few seconds, his irritation faded and he slowed to a stroll, inhaling the bright smell of oranges and apples, assorted bundles of fresh herbs. Ralph pushed ahead of him, a net bag the grocery provided clutched in his hand, kicking loose leaves and battered produce under the table. 

"Dangerous," he growled, and Jared rolled his eyes. Dangerous to the fragile little carrier was what he meant, The Lord forbid Jared slip on a deadly spinach leaf or something...Jared sucked his teeth at himself. He was getting so crabby, he could barely stand himself lately. Feeling guilty, he selected a couple of figs to throw in his bag of oranges and tomatoes—Ralph liked them and Jared did feel awful for his uncharitable thoughts. Though really, figs were disgusting. He couldn't imagine what would possess someone to eat them….

Jared stopped. Was it normal to feel like this? Besides being a horrible scold, he suffered the constant feeling that his skin was too tight and that there wasn't enough air to breathe, and hot, why was it so hot all the time? Would he ever feel normal again? Why didn't anyone care how he felt?   
Jared's eyes stung with tears that he tried to blink back. He was so caught up in his misery, he jumped when Ralph's big, warm, hand closed over his shoulder and squeezed a bit. The kindness in his eyes made Jared feel worse, but he melted into Ralph's grip anyway. He was being foolish. Ralph worried about him, cared about him, and right now Jared desperately needed that. 

"Maybe you should get your treats and head home," Ralph murmured, and Jared nodded. It'd been a long day, and he needed to get off his feet, maybe take a nap, if the Thing let him rest. 

Ralph released the bulging net bag to Jared as they stepped up to the sales counter, and he slid his selection across the counter with a smile. The person manning the cash register didn't smile back; he said nothing as he totaled up Jared's purchase, then kept his hands at his side until Jared had finished counting out the money onto the counter. He counted out change onto the counter as well, making his interaction with Jared as impersonal and minimal as possible. 

Jared burned with a sudden flood of anger, but he forced himself to be calm as he took his bag back. Turning to go, he noted a bright, hand-lettered 'for help' sign propped up by the register. Despite knowing he had a snowball's chance in a stew pot of getting a job here, he asked anyway. 

The counter-person sneered at him, punctuated it with a nasty laugh. "Are you kidding? I need someone who's going to be able to _work,_ lift crates and clean and not calling out over stupid shit. In other words, this ain't a charity—go find some other place." 

Jared bit his lip and nodded. The man was a great, big, rude… _tool!_ Jared blushed, almost certain that tool meant penis—but it was the only thing that described the horrible little man. Still, awful as he was, he was right. Jared would never be able to haul crates and time was growing short for him and...well. That was that.

He started to walk away when Ralph stopped him, shooting a dark glare past Jared's shoulder. "Hey, why you gotta be such a jerk? Kid here just asked, and you laugh in his face?" Ralph leaned closer, a belligerent look on his face, and the stall owner blustered, doing a poor job of hiding his fear of a very angry, very large Ralph. 

Someone came up behind the owner, a tall, brown-skinned man with big, dark eyes framed by the longest lashes. Jared swallowed. The man was awfully good-looking. He gave Jared and Ralph a long, speculative look. There wasn't anything judgmental or borderline disgusted in his gase, not like the first man; he just looked mildly interested. "What's going on?"

The owner suddenly looked flustered; seemed to shrink, and struck Jared that this guy was not the owner. "This...this _person_ asked about the job. I mean, look at him, the frea—guy's ready to explode." His face twisted, a flash of disgust flitted over it.

Handsome's eyebrows shot up as he looked from Jared to Ralph, before asking Jared, "Job-hunting, carrier? When are you due?"

"June." Jared said, his tone flat and dry. Why waste time with words to no point?

"Hmm." Handsome's eyes locked on Ralph as he said, "It doesn't pay much—I just want someone to sweep up and wipe down the cases, empty the crates." 

Ralph took a half-step behind Jared, letting Handsome know this was not his negotiation, which Jared appreciated, and Handsome seemed to understand the correction immediately. All his attention fastened on Jared, who blushed at the intensity of his gaze. He really did have pretty eyes. 

"Thank you, but I don't think I'll be lifting crates anytime soon," Jared replied. He backed into Ralph, ready to leave, but Handsome lifted his hands. 

"Lifting crates? Why the hell would you do that? That's this clown's job. It's about all he can manage, which is why I'm trying to hire someone with a brain. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't family—"

"Hey!" The guy yelled, red-faced, angry and obviously embarrassed. He took a step towards Jared, seeing him as the most vulnerable person there, but Ralph was looming between the two of them before Jared could even take a breath. 

"Try and lay a hand on my boy, and I'll beat the stupid right out of ya."

The man who must be the actual owner of the little grocery just smiled at Ralph and shrugged, said, "Do what you have to do, my friend. Anyway," he said, focusing on Jared again. "I need someone each evening for a couple of hours. There'll also be some general cleanup. Like I said, though, it doesn't pay much."

"No, that's—I just need a part time job to—to help with rent." 

Handsome nodded. He held his hand out and smiled at Jared. "Well, all right. I'm Roni. Pleased to meet you. Let's go inside and talk about this. Your…um." He hesitated, frowning slightly, and obviously wondering what place Ralph had in Jared's life. He took a stab at it, mumbling, "...father is welcome." 

Before Jared could explain, Ralph smiled and took Roni's hand, giving it a firm pump. "Thanks. He's a real good worker, my boy."

When Jared walked out of the little grocery stall again, he had a job, a crush, and _much_ higher spirits than he'd started the day with. He felt so good, he even handed Ralph the figs instead of tossing them away; he pretended that Ralph's smirk was a happy smile regarding the treat.  
=+= 

Life settled, for the moment, into a new and comfortable routine. His new apartment was lovely, cozy, and best of all, private. Despite expecting trouble from Mrs. Kawa, she was a tolerable landlady. Working two jobs was exhausting, just as he expected, but doable. Except for Roni's obnoxious brother-in-law (what a disappointment it had been to find Roni was, happily, head-over-heels-in-love married), Jared had no complaint working at the Bountiful Grocery. Dealing with a single ignorant pants was preferable to a gaggle of obnoxious girl-children. 

Jared was on his way back from his shift at the grocer's now, and only had an online lecture to catch at the library at seven this evening, not a problem at all. He was pleased that he'd become an expert at sailing the Inconnects in such a short time. Sort of. At least, he wasn't bothering the poor librarians every few minutes anymore.   
At any rate, after the lecture, what was left of his evening was his own. Maybe he'd finally try out the pens and paper he'd bought, he'd been thinking lately of drawing...though he'd found that writing was comforting to his spirit as well. Getting his own words on a page felt surprisingly good.

Waddling across the street, he swung his usual bag of oranges and apples, gifted to him by Roni's wife, who as much as it pained him to admit it, was very nice. Jared was in a rare good mood; maybe he'd celebrate by buying a real coffee from the Milk Bar before taking the trolley home. He'd have just enough time for a nap before heading to the library. 

Jared groaned unhappily when he got in view of the Milk Bar. 

Well, this was just beegus. There were a bunch of soldiers hanging around the Milk Bar. The darn fellows were everywhere these days. He couldn't wait until this service year stuff was over.

The boys—men—were actually gathered around a quick bites kiosk, the one right next to his coffee shop. they were joking around the way care-free boys do, the kind of boys Jared had come to recognize, working at the diner. Boys who had more money than brains, and grew up thinking the world owed them something. Jared rubbed his aching stomach and frowned. 'Stop making me a grumpy old gluepig.' he thought at Thing.

They were handsome, Jared had to admit that, dressed in their olive green uniforms and leather boots. They seemed dressed for colder weather than what they were experiencing now. Maybe they'd come from a colder place...a few of them were definitely redder in the face than their mild horseplay would call for, though the spicy noshes they were wolfing down couldn't help. Jared shook his head. If he wasn't sure they'd treat him like a leper, he might even have smiled at them. They had their odd little rectangular caps tucked in the wide, brown leather belts that cinched their jackets. They elbowed each other, laughed and poked fun at each other. In general the boys were as boisterous as a class full of first years given too much sugar, all except the tall one with high cheekbones and lashes to rival Roni's; the one whose lips were plump and pink from nibbling at the little bun that Jared knew from experience was filled with lava. That one stood out from the other's, with his movie star looks and broad shoulders filling out his sinfully cut uniform. 

He finished the bun, licking his fingertips, which Jared tried to ignore. He'd almost managed to slink into the Milk Bar when the tall one threw his head back and laughed at something one of the other's said.

The sound sent chills through Jared—pleasant, and at the same time, decidedly _not._ Jared shivered, the swell of his belly clenching with nausea.

The young man grabbed the guy who'd made him laugh by the shoulder. He shook him, his mouth wide in a smile that lit up his whole face and made his eyes glow; even from the distance, Jared could see that the boy's eyes were green as Mountain Groves' hills, and he was freckled like a farmer.

Like a farmer….

_So dark, everywhere smelled of dried leaves and wet soil and alcohol...there were warm, soft fingers under his chin...warm, smooth, not-farmer's hand cupped his cheek. "Are you sure you're okay? Really?"_

Jared opened his eyes, not even aware that he'd closed them, that's how hard the memory hit him—holerah, like getting kicked squarely by Mercury—Oh! Mercury...Jared's eyes burned as tears filled them so quickly he couldn't keep them from spilling over. His horse...his _life…_ "Oh, m-my Lord."

it was him. That _boy._ Man. The one who'd...who'd tried to be helpful. Ish. _Jack._ How could he have forgotten him? The one who'd witnessed Jared's failure. Probably the only one, aside from the monster who'd ruined his life, who had any idea what had happened that night.

Jared gasped in horror. What if Jack remembered him? No, no, why would he? Those people probably witnessed any number of idiots ruin their own lives, probably a sport for them, they probably had great laughs over it. But. What if Jack did remember him? Oh... _holerah!_

Jared quickly dropped back against the Milk Bar's doorway, hunching over and hoping he was out of sight, and of course snagged his darn bag on some sharp bit of something that ripped it right down the center when he tugged, sending his stupid oranges and apples rolling out across the side walk. The soldiers enthusiastically leaped into action, running after the escaping fruit, while Jack followed behind, letting them dump the rescued pieces into his arms. Jack was laughing; Jared was mesmerized by the pink tip of his tongue flirting between the sharp white edges of his teeth.

Horrors of horrors, Jack trotted up to him, flashing that wicked smile, arms that Jared knew were muscular despite being covered by the jacket he wore. He was sweating with exertion--of course, imagine wearing that ridiculous uniform in the heat...Jared swallowed violently, praying not to vomit all over his shoes. Jack stopped, too close, and said, "Here you go, student. Hope they weren't bruised too badly…"

His voice went straight to Jared's heart, making it race. He looked at the handful of oranges and bruised apples Jack held carefully out to him. Jared's hands were frozen at his sides, shaking too hard to reach out for the fruit, afraid he'd drop them and they'd go rolling off again. Jared could see the young soldiers behind Jack. None of them looked like they wanted to spit at him. They looked interested, curious; some were amused, but it seemed directed at Jack, not Jared.

Jared shook himself. "I—I'm not a student, I'm a waiter." Jared reached out for the fruit and Jack's eyes were drawn to his disgusting, bloated middle. Jared gritted his teeth, waiting for...something bad, but Jack just looked surprised, not repulsed.

"You might want to count them, make sure we got them all...oh. Wait." He waved one of the young men to him. "Go inside and fetch a bag for him." He turned back to Jared, peering into his face curiously. "Do I...Do I know you? You look rather familiar...oh my god, you're The Boy." Jack took a step back, his pale skin going even paler, making his freckles look like spatters of mud. He blinked, and flushed, and stepped closer. "You _are_ him."

"I'm nobody," Jared snapped, trying to tug the fruit out of Jack's hands. "Can I have my apples and things back, please?"

"I remember. You're...Jared, right? I'm Jensen," Jack said, still staring at Jared, his gaze going from head to toe, his expression on the edge of awe. "Gosh, you got... "

Jared took a deep breath, ready to try out an Outsider curse word or two—he'd been practicing. Jack finished his sentence, with a huge, bright smile. "So tall!"

 _Tall! Tall?_ Jared stared at him, nonplussed. Here he was the size and shape of a battleship and all Jack had to say was 'you're tall'?  
"My name is _Jay,"_ Jared replied, glaring at the liar while he shoved Jared's fruit into a net, that Jared, with some tugging, managed to get the man to release—he was not going to offer to pay for the net. He wasn't going to be polite to a guy that probably laughed while Jared stumbled around in the dark, hurting and, and, only the Lord knew how he'd _hurt out there all alone._ And why would Jack lie about something so unimportant as his name? Maybe he was a compulsive liar...or just a gluepig.

He started off to his little apartment without a backward look, eager to put space between himself and that...that person. Head held high, he walked away, taking great, big, no-nonsense strides, that slowly became a brisk walk, and then a lot less brisk, until finally it was a slow—but angry—stroll. He was puffing a little but that was no one's business. The Thing took a lot out of him: energy, joy....

"I'm so surprised to see you again."

"Gobnaw!" The voice practically at his ear scared the heck out of him; he nearly dropped his fruit again. Jack went on, like they were having a pleasant meander Sunday-after-church.

"I think about you a lot, I mean, I've thought about you, you know, from time to time...I was worried the last time I saw you, what with the, what happ...well..um."

His blathering finally trailed into silence and Jared was nothing but grateful that he'd finally, _finally_ shut up. He tried to walk faster but of course, Jack kept up easily, with his trim, muscular self and his—Jared glanced down—bow legs, Lord please forgive him, but they looked so good in those boots and those tight pants and—

"I know this is sudden and maybe you don't even remember me, I can't tell since you won't talk...um. Would you like a cup of coffee? With me, I mean?"

"No," Jared said. "I would not. Good-bye." He jumped on the trolley that would let him out at his apartment. He had a lot to think about. He peeked out of the window, and saw Jack...Jensen...standing on the corner, watching as the trolley rounded the corner.


End file.
